


NEMESIS

by The_Fifth_Marauder



Category: Wentworth (TV)
Genre: Action, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Canon Divergence, Character Death, Drama, F/F, Fridget, Friendship, Murder, Revenge, Romance, Season/Series 06, Thriller, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 44,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27259759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Fifth_Marauder/pseuds/The_Fifth_Marauder
Summary: Set straight after Episode 3: ‘Bleed Out’. (Season 6) Franky has finally cleared her name and is free to continue her life with Bridget by her side. But after a turn of events which sees Bridget up on a murder charge over a prominent High Court judge’s daughter, can Franky uncover the truth and prove Bridget’s innocence, before she is sentenced to spend the next twenty years of her life in Wentworth? And how will Bridget cope as an inmate on the wrong side of the bars?
Relationships: Franky Doyle & Bea Smith (Friendship), Franky Doyle/Bridget Westfall
Comments: 108
Kudos: 104





	1. Birthday Surprise

**Author's Note:**

> My first Fridget fic has been a long time coming. Those familiar with my previous stories, will know I love plot twists and cliffhangers.  
>    
> Expect the Unexpected.
> 
> Enjoy!

The front door swung open and hit the wall behind. “Oops, my bad!” Franky said as she stood on the verandah, holding Bridget in both her arms.

“You shouldn’t be holding me given your shoulder injury.”

“Tis but a scratch!”

“A bullet wound is not a scratch. It needs time to mend.”

“Ten days in hospital is long enough. Besides, I’d much rather you nurse me back to health in somewhere a little more private. In the meantime, I shall attempt to carry you inside without dropping you, or banging your head on the doorframe.”

“I’ve never been carried across the threshold before,” Bridget quipped, her hands now wrapped around Franky’s neck and uninjured shoulder.

“Yeah, neither have I.” Franky awkwardly switched on the lights and carried Bridget down the hallway and into the lounge room, placing her down gently.

“Welcome home, baby. _Our_ home.”

“Is that an invitation for me to move in permanently?”

“Unless you’ve had a better offer? Otherwise, we’ll pick up your stuff from the bedsit in the morning.”

“There’s nothing there I want, because everything I need is standing right before me.” Franky pulled Bridget in close and kissed her affectionately on the lips. “I’m crazily in love with you, Gidge, and I can’t think of anything better than to wake up to you each morning.”

“We have an entire lifetime of mornings.”

“Yeah, we do.” Franky teared up as she glanced around her surroundings.

_I’m home._

“What are you thinking, baby?”

“Seeing my father and sister earlier today made me realise how fortunate I am. But most of all, I’m the luckiest gal in the world because you never gave up on me. You’re the reason I have a future.”

“And I never will. Rest assured you’ve won this gal’s heart forever.”

“Yet it’s still my intention to win your heart a little more each day starting with a roaring fire, a bottle of red and a glorious night of sex - not necessarily in that order.”

“Then you know where the bedroom is.” Bridget held out her hand and Franky took it in her own. “Lead the way.”

“Good idea. I reckon it’s time we dust out those cobwebs.”

**** **** ****

Jake Stewart returned from the toilet and sat by himself at the bar, nursing a glass of whiskey in his hand. He took a sip and for the umpteenth time inspected the small ultrasound photo which Vera had given him earlier that day.

_I helped to create this wonderful human being!_

A tear splashed upon the photo, and he carefully wiped it away with the cuff of his jacket. For the first time, he understood the meaning of unconditional love as his unborn child instantly became his saviour.

_I promise I’ll be the best dad in the world to you, my darling little girl._

He downed the remainder of whiskey and pulled the engagement ring from his prison jacket to inspect its striking diamond cluster set in gold.

_And if Vera will have me, I promise I’ll be the best husband, too._

Life was finally being kind to him, and he concluded it paid to be an honest man.

_The old Jake Stewart is dead. No more drugs, no more shady dealings. No more being someone else’s puppet. The new, polished version would be eternally grateful for this second chance at life._

“You’re looking pleased with yourself. Can I get you a refill?” The bartender asked him.

“That’s because I’m going to become a father! Can you believe that? He held the ring up to show the bartender. “And tomorrow, I’ll be proposing to her mother.”

“Congratulations!” She poured him another drink. “On the house, Dad.”

“Hey, thanks! To my baby daughter and her beautiful mother, Vera.” Jake skolled the drink in one shot.

Minutes later, Jake left the warmth of the bar and into the cold, rainy night. Normally, he could easily handle two drinks, but tonight it appeared to have the opposite effect. He staggered slightly to his car and sat behind the wheel, massaging his temples to help ease the onslaught of a pounding headache.

As Jake drove down the busy Chapel Street, the buildings on either side of the road blurred, and his head started spinning. He shook his head a few times, hoping it would clear, but the distraction was enough to skid on the wet tram tracks and veer the car onto the opposite side of the road and into oncoming traffic. In a panic, he swerved, but unable to see properly, he accidentally hit the accelerator instead of the brake and smashed into a power pole with full force.

Even though emergency workers were on the scene within minutes, it felt like an eternity for Jake as he sat trapped in the driver’s seat with the steering wheel rammed up against his chest, after the airbag failed to open. Jake struggled with each breath, like razor blades were slicing through his lungs each time he inhaled. A firefighter squeezed his arm through the driver’s side window and held Jake’s hand for reassurance.

“Stay with us, mate, okay? We’ll get you out ASAP.”

Unable to move his broken body, Jake coughed, sending a spray of blood over the dashboard and smashed windscreen. For the second time that night, a tear slid down his face, but this time, they were the type of tears from a man who knew his time was up.

“There’s a... ring... in my left pocket...” Jake indicated as the younger man leaned in awkwardly and retrieved the ring. “Tell... Vera and our unborn baby... that I’m sorry for everything and... I love them both... very much.”

Moments later, Jake Stewart unintentionally broke his promise to his beloved daughter, and she would grow up without ever meeting her father.

**** **** ****

Franky stretched and checked the clock on the bedside table: 7.00am. Her first day of freedom.

_Real freedom._

No more adhering to prison rules and routines run by a series of bells. No more nights holed up in disused train carriages whilst hiding from the police. The significance was not lost on her, given it was the first day of her thirties.

_New decade, new life._

She carefully peeled back the bandage on her shoulder and examined the healing wound, knowing it would leave an ugly scar - an everlasting reminder of the previous chapter in her life she’d much rather forget.

_I’m never going back. Ever._

Bridget craned her neck around the corner into the bedroom. “Guess what day it is today?”

Franky reapplied the bandage. “My own day of denial?”

“Happy birthday, baby!” Bridget entered the bedroom with a dark chocolate mud cake dripping in white chocolate ganache and fresh strawberries, topped with thirty birthday candles. “Hurry up and blow them out before it activates the fire alarm.”

“Oh, you’re funny. Do I get a birthday wish?”

“Only if you blow out the candles in one go.”

Franky sat upright in bed, licking her lips with anticipation. “I know what I’d like to blow,” she replied with a smirk. “And trust me, it’s not the candles.” Franky blew out the candles with ease. “Looks like my wish is about to come true.” Moments later, the candles reignited by themselves, leaving Franky perplexed. “Really? Trick candles?”

“You lose, Franky.” Bridget took the cake and placed it on the bedside table, then slid her silk nightie off her shoulders, allowing the delicate garment to drop to the floor. “Guess you’re stuck with me instead.”

“What… no red bow?” Franky yawned and looked down at her nails, feinting disinterest. “I suppose you’ll have to do.”

Bridget climbed on the bed and straddled Franky’s lap. “You won’t be saying that when we go away tonight for the weekend to celebrate your birthday.”

“Really? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I love surprises, especially when it involves dirty weekends away. What shall I pack?” Franky lifted her knees up, pushing Bridget forward enough so she could capture the bud in her mouth, tugging on it slightly and flicking her tongue around the hardened nipple.

Bridget giggled, pushing her back on the bed and ran the tip of her middle finger over Franky’s smooth skin, down between her breasts and over her stomach. “What you’re wearing now will suffice.”

Franky grabbed Bridget’s wandering hand before it could go any lower and flipped her onto her back. “Why, Miss Westfall, I do believe it’s your intention to corrupt me this weekend.”

“I’m not going into work today and was hoping we could start now,” Bridget let out a soft moan as Franky nipped at her throat. “Get in early and avoid any unnecessary buildup of traffic.”

“You are such a tease. What did you have in mind?”

“Sex, and lots of it.”

“Blunt and to the point. I like it. Hey, did you remember to feed puss?”

“Not since the last time you asked.”

“That was weeks ago!”

“Yeah, and it’s had to fend for itself and is starving for some affection.”

“Tell you what, I’ll help you ’cause I’m a sucker for a hungry pussy. Close your eyes.” Franky reached over and pulled a candle from the cake, then carefully angled it over Bridget’s exposed body until a single drop of wax splashed upon her skin just above her belly button.

Bridget opened her eyes and gasped, feeling her body spasm in reaction to the hot sting which last mere seconds, then harden against her skin. She scrapped away the cooled wax with her fingernail, curiously touching the red patch of skin on her stomach.

Franky studied her face for a reaction. “Impressive. I’d say you feel excitement with a tad of guilt at the possibility of indulging yourself in this new experience. Am I right?” Franky tilted the candle again, the wax threatening to spill once more.

“If I told you to stop, would you?”

“I would never push you into anything which makes you feel uncomfortable.”

Franky pulled the candle away, but Bridget reached out and clasped her hand tightly around Franky’s wrist. “Now who’s teasing?”

“Don’t fret, Gidge,” Franky reassured her as she extinguished the candle in a glass of water before adding it back to the cake. “One candle down, twenty-nine to go. This is the best birthday ever and just so you know, my wish came true.” Franky nestled herself between Bridget’s legs and blew softly upon the engorged nub. “Hey, good news… I found puss!”

Bridget chuckled. “Meow!”

Franky lifted Bridget’s left leg over her uninjured shoulder and was rewarded with an appreciative moan as she gradually worked her way up Bridget’s thigh with several small kisses. “Someone’s getting near, and it’s not me. Not yet, anyway.”

“Don’t stop now!” Bridget gripped the hair on the back of Franky’s head and pushed her down to continue. “It’s been a long time since you’ve pleasured me!” Several loud moans escaped Bridget’s lips as Franky tugged on the outer folds of the labia with her lips and progressed inwards, swirling her tongue in a figure eight motion, deliberately avoiding the clit. “Fuck, I’ve missed this… but most of all I’ve missed you!” Bridget yelled out.

“Glad you’re enjoying my birthday wish.” Franky said as she slid two fingers inside. “It turns me on at how wet you are.”

“You started it, now shut up and finish it!” Bridget demanded as she pushed Franky’s head down again to stop her from talking.

Franky inserted another finger in, plunging further inside, at the same time running the tip of her tongue along the shaft of the clit, culminating in pursing her lips around the nub and pulling it slightly upwards. 

Bridget arched her back and desperately sucked in the air between her teeth – relishing that sweet moment before her orgasm was about to explode from deep within her body. She tried to prolong it by focusing upon the suction Franky’s fingers made each time they plunged in and out, in and out, but with each thrust she sped up to match the pace. And when that familiar aroma of both their arousals mixed as one penetrated Bridget’s nostrils, she could hold out no longer, spiralling towards that crowning glory which she had yearned for so long.

_How the fuck does Franky know what I want and where I need it most? Every fucking time!_

It didn’t matter, for she let herself succumb to the euphoria, her cries of encouragement further turning Franky on and leaving Bridget aching for more.

**** **** ****

Later that morning, Bridget sat at the kitchen bench, catching up with the daily news online. “Baby, check this out,” she called out to Franky.

Franky ventured over and handed her the first coffee for the day. “I’m hoping you’re watching erotic lesbian videos?”

“You used up your wish this morning, remember? Nope, this is serious,” she pointed to the headline on screen. “Jake Stewart is dead.”

“Woah! No shit, aye? Which prisoner shived him?”

“Nothing to do with Wentworth.” Bridget took a sip from her coffee cup. “It was a car accident. The police believe it was drug or alcohol-related and are awaiting toxicology results for confirmation. Poor Vera! She’s pregnant to him.”

“I didn’t even know they were together.”

“They were until she uncovered his illegal activities and severed ties with him.”

“Then Jake was an arsehole, and Vera and the kid are better off without him.”

“Franky! How can you say that?”

“Simple. I open my mouth and the words tumble out. Bet you didn’t know he was Tina Mercado’s drug supplier.”

“No, I didn’t, but you used to push shit, too,” Bridget reminded her.

“Yeah, I fucked up royally, but at least I cleaned up my act. He’s a corrections officer there to help the women, not abuse their vulnerability and getting them hooked on gear. Plus rumours were doing the rounds that he was in the Freak’s pocket.”

“They weren’t rumours. Vera confided to me of his dealings with Ferguson and how she used him to manipulate everyone, including her.”

“Then it really is no big loss, huh?”

“Franky, sometimes your lack of empathy astounds me.”

“C’mon, Gidge, I just want to put that shithole behind us, because even though I’ve left, I feel like I’ll never be free of that place.”

“Some of your closest friends are still in that place you call a shithole. Those same people you call family, remember?”

Franky sighed. “Playing the guilt card, now? It won’t work.”

“There’s no guilt attached. What does concern me is that you don’t seem to care?”

“What the fuck are you on about? Your problem is you think you know what it’s like to be a con just because you’ve worked in a prison and have a degree in psychology.”

“Shit, that’s an enormous leap. Where did that come from?”

“You’re the expert, you tell me. Here’s a question for you. Do you see me as your partner, or some sort of guinea pig to practise your textbook theories?”

“That’s a thinly veiled accusation, not a question, and it’s totally unjustified.”

“Is it? Unless you’ve lived life on the other side of the bars, you know fuck all! That feeling of waking up each morning not knowing what each day will bring and hoping by the end of the day you’re not in Medical being stitched up after being shived in a fight, just because some bitch has taken a dislike towards you. You have no fucking idea, Gidget. Even the Freak would have had a better understanding than you!”

“This is complete bullshit,” Bridget replied calmy. “You’ve just turned thirty and are resentful at wasting a large portion of your twenties stuck in prison, and are now taking it out on me.”

“Well done,” Franky slow-clapped. “Is that what they taught you at university? Don’t forget to add the precious time of my life which I threw away due to a moment of pure stupidity.”

“Now you’re deliberately mocking me.”

“No, I’m being honest with myself. Nothing good came out of being in prison.”

“It straightened you out.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s right... I went in an angry and confused youth and came out a mature and responsible adult with a law degree. Something I could have done on the outside had I had my shit together. Name me just one thing I did inside that I couldn’t have done elsewhere?”

“Shit, Franky, sometimes you are so fucking insensitive.”

“You’re the one being insensitive! I just want to move on with my life and you keep dragging me back to the past!”

“It’s because of Wentworth that we found one another, remember? Just last night you stated I was the only person who believed in you and helped see that you have a future. Or am I no longer considered worthy?”

“I never said you’re not worthy. Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“No, you didn’t, but it’s how you make me feel when you say comments like that.” Bridget gathered up her keys and handbag. “Look, baby, you need to decide what you want in your life and whether you want me to be a part of it.”

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going into work for a couple of hours.”

“I thought you were taking today off?”

“Under the circumstances, I think it’s a wise choice.”

“Here’s a first,” Franky shouted, holding her arms out wide. “You’re the one pissing off instead of sticking around to nag me with one of your bloody lectures!”

“Right now you don’t want to listen because your only aim is to hurt me,” Bridget said, refusing once more to raise her voice in retaliation. “You need time out before you say something that you’ll really regret. Call me when you’re ready for me to come home and have a civilised discussion.” Bridget walked down the hallway and gently closed the door behind her.

“Fuck!” Franky yelled, as she lashed out and threw the birthday cake across the kitchen, watching with immense satisfaction as it exploded against the wall, sending chunks of chocolate mud over the sink, fridge and floor. “Some fucking birthday this turned out to be!”

The feeling of destroying the cake was short-lived, and Franky set to work cleaning up the mess, cursing herself for losing control.

_What are you doing? Don’t throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to you!_

Bridget was right - Wentworth was always going to be a part of her past and her future - assuming she wanted to remain in contact with her friends. Guilt got the better of her and she called Bridget, but it went straight to message bank.

“Hey, Gidge, the decision was easy as I can’t imagine my life without you. I’m so sorry for behaving like a dick. You’re right, please forgive me. I miss you and want you to come home.”

Over the next few hours, Franky left several messages, but none were returned. Finally, she called Bridget’s workplace, but staff informed her Bridget never arrived.

“What the fuck is going on?” Franky asked herself after speaking with Bridget’s relatives and friends. No one had seen or heard from her. “There’s no way Gidge would miss our weekend away, even to teach me a lesson.”

When Bridget didn’t appear later that evening, Franky filed a missing person report with the police who made the usual enquires with the hospitals, but no one matching Bridget’s description was admitted. Their assurances that most people return within the first forty-eight hours did nothing to soothe Franky’s fears.

“Please, Gidge, if you’re trying to scare me, it’s worked. Call me as soon as you get this message.”

As a last resort, she phoned Vera, but she hadn’t spoken to her since the previous day when Franky had visited Boomer, Liz and Allie.

Franky spent a restless night tossing and turning in a bed which felt too big without Bridget lying alongside her. At some point she fell asleep, but the phone woke her up and she answered it, noting Bridget’s name appearing on-screen. She dropped the formalities and cut in first to make her apologies, but the unmistakable sounds of hysterical sobbing interrupted her. “Gidge? Are you okay?”

_“Help me, Franky! There’s blood everywhere!”_

“Blood? Are you okay? Have you been involved in an accident?”

_“Not me. It’s her… she’s dead!”_

“What? Who’s dead?”

_“I don’t know, I’ve never seen her before! Why can’t I remember anything?”_

Franky could barely understand as Bridget’s words continued to be broken up by her cries. “Gidge, you’re not making any sense. I need you to take three deep breaths and then tell me exactly what’s happened.”

_“There’s a naked woman lying on the bed with puncture wounds all over her body. I woke up next to her with a knife in my hand and her blood all over me. Oh, God, Franky! What has happened here?”_

“Shit! Okay, I need you to focus. Where are you?”

_“Some sort of room. A motel room?”_

“Listen to me, if it’s a motel, they’ll have a menu or writing paper with their address on it. Try the drawer beside the bed.” Franky jotted down the address Bridget gave her. “I’m on my way, Gidge. Don’t call the police and don’t open the door to anyone, okay?”

_“Franky, I... I’m not sure, but... I think... I think I killed her.”_

**** **** ****

By the time Franky arrived at the run-down motel, it was cordoned off by police and a small crowd of motel patrons were milling around for a closer look. Franky persisted and pushed her way through to the front of curious onlookers, but a young constable prevented her from going beyond the police line, despite her pleas that she knew the person involved. The door to a motel room opened, and she watched on helplessly as Bridget stepped out wearing a white bathrobe covered with blood stains. Bridget's short blonde hair was matted with blood and her wrists were handcuffed from behind, as a police officer and detective walked either side of her, holding her tightly by the upper arms.

“Bridget!” Franky shouted.

Bridget looked up and their eyes met for the briefest of moments - long enough for Franky to see the genuine fear in Bridget’s face. But before she could reply, the detective opened the back of the police van as the other guided her inside, pushing her head down to prevent her from hitting her forehead on the rim of the door frame. Moments later, the van left the scene and Franky saw a glimpse of Bridget as she peered out the wired window.

The crowd soon dispersed, leaving Franky standing alone with the constable. The detective who brought Bridget out of the hotel room approached her.

“Are you Franky Doyle?”

“Yes, how did you know?”

“Miss Westfall mentioned she called you and I heard you shout out her name.”

“She doesn’t remember what happened, but I’m positive she’s not responsible.”

“The evidence indicates otherwise. My advice is to get her a bloody good lawyer, because your friend is in serious trouble.”

“Can I ask... did Bridget call the police?”

“No, it was an anonymous tip off. The caller said they heard two women arguing in their motel room, but wouldn’t elaborate. They used a public phone and hung up before we could ask any questions.”

“But that person may know Bridget is innocent.”

The detective laughed at what he considered a foolish comment. ”I doubt it. Lots of people see or hear things and phone it in. They don’t want to get involved but feel obligated to do the right thing.”

“Have you interviewed the other motel residents, yet?”

The detective nodded. “They’re being interviewed, but so far no one has seen or heard anything. Put it this way, if they did, then no one is talking.”

“What about CCTV cameras? And have you checked Bridget’s car?”

“The manager deletes the footage at the end of each day and Miss Westfall’s car is being impounded for fingerprints.” He opened his wallet and handed her a business card. “I’ll be handling this investigation. If Miss Westfall mentions anything important to you, then call me.”

Franky watched him leave and was left unimpressed with Detective Weller’s attitude. She had met his type before - as far as he was concerned, it was an open and shut case and he could sleep well tonight knowing he had caught the bad guy.

_Guilty until proven innocent._

Franky sighed. “I’m sorry, Gidge. This is all my fault.”

_This is the worst birthday ever._

Life for the both of them was about to get extremely complicated.


	2. Fresh Meat

Bridget and her lawyer sat at the table in the small interrogation room, along with Detective Weller, who was relentlessly firing off question after question. “We keep going over the same details, and I keep telling you the same thing!” She pleaded with the detective.

“There’s eighteen hours unaccounted for, Miss Westfall, and I want to know where you were during that time.”

“I’ve already told you, I don’t know!”

“There’s your answer, detective. The same as the last time you asked,” her lawyer replied. “I think you can move on to the next question.”

“Okay, what was the last thing you can remember?”

“We disagreed on an issue, and I left to go into my workplace for a few hours.”

“Who’s we, Miss Westfall?”

“My partner, Franky.”

“That would be Francesca Doyle?” Bridget nodded, and the detective checked his notes, looking upon her with distaste. “Didn’t take long for her criminal activities to rub off on you, did it?”

Bridget’s lawyer intervened. “Miss Doyle’s past has no bearing on my client’s current situation, and I ask that you refrain from this line of questioning. Stick to the allegations.”

“Fine. Here are the _alleged_ facts. There is a signed testimony from the motel manager identifying you as being the person who booked a room with that same woman you later allegedly stabbed to death.” The detective dropped a copy of the manager’s testimony, along with a photocopy of Bridget’s driver’s licence in front of her. “We have a phone recording from an anonymous caller who dialled Triple Zero to report a fight coming from your room early the following day, and when the police arrived, you were covered in the victim’s blood and your fingerprints were all over the murder weapon _and_ the woman’s body. How much more evidence do you need before you’ll admit you’re guilty?”

“You’re badgering Miss Westfall into confessing to a crime under duress.”

Weller ignored him, determined not to let some hotshot lawyer steal the prize away from him. _Not this time._ The detective slapped a dozen photos of the crime scene on the table. “Take a look at what you’ve done. What I can’t figure out is your motive for such a sadistic murder. What did Taylor Hamsley do to you to deserve this death sentence?”

Bridget held out a shaking hand and picked up the one photo of herself taken before police allowed her to shower and change her clothes. Without access to a mirror, she had given no thought to how she presented herself to those around her.

_This is what Franky saw when I left the motel room. Does she think I’m guilty too?_

“Yeah, that’s you, Miss Westfall, covered in Hamsley’s blood. Did you get off on it? Is that it?” Weller pounded his balled fist against the table in frustration. “Tell me why you did it!”

“Miss Westfall, you don’t need to answer that question. Detective, I insist you stop with this line of questioning, or I will lodge a complaint with your superiors.”

“I don’t recall any of this!” Bridget burst into tears at seeing the haunting images of the lifeless woman lying on the motel bed. “Someone drugged me - it’s the only plausible explanation!”

“More likely you took those drugs willingly during the night.”

“No! I don’t do drugs!”

“Yet the motel manager clearly remembers you being under the influence, but we’ll confirm this once the toxicology report comes back from the laboratory. In the meantime, I am formally charging you with the murder of Taylor Hamsley, and you’ll be remanded at Wentworth Correctional Centre to await trial.”

“Wentworth? No! You can’t!”

“I demand you send my client elsewhere, due to special circumstances of having recently been a member of staff at the same facility.”

“Not negotiable. Miss Westfall is up on serious charges and therefore sending her to a maximum prison is the only option. Maybe she should have thought of that before taking the life of a prominent High Court judge’s daughter.” The detective leant over the table, a satisfied smirk on his face. “A grieving father who has enough influence within the law to ensure they put you away for a long time. Not even the best lawyer in Australia can save you now.”

**** **** ****

Vera re-read the newspaper article, contemplating the consequences of its front page headline. In just a few short weeks her life had taken an unexpected backflip with the truth of Joan Ferguson’s murder, Jake’s betrayal, along with his sudden death, and her unplanned pregnancy. And now her closest friend, Bridget Westfall, was about to enter Wentworth on remand, to await trial for murder.

There was a light knock at the door, and Will Jackson entered her office. “Hey, you wanted to see me?”

“Close the door and take a seat.”

Will recognised the telltale signs of a person under intense pressure, although he wasn’t surprised, given what she had been subjected to lately. After what he’d endured with Joan Ferguson recently, he could relate. “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you in, after what happened to Jake.”

“Jake was the father of my child. Nothing more. Besides, there’s a good reason I can’t take leave.”

“Fair enough, but if there’s anything I can do…”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it, there’s a new prisoner due to arrive shortly. I want you to attend to her admittance personally, and then take her straight through to H1.”

“Sure. Anything I should know beforehand?”

“Yes,” she hesitated before replying. “The prisoner’s name is Bridget Westfall.”

Will’s lower jaw dropped. “You’re kidding? What’s she in for?”

Vera handed him the newspaper. “Murdering a High Court judge’s daughter.”

“I heard about the case, but they didn’t name the suspect. Surely the media would be all over this given Bridget’s previous association with Wentworth?”

“Due to the brutality of the crime and sensitivity surrounding the case, the courts suppressed Bridget’s name. Apparently, the judge wasn’t aware of his daughter’s sexual preferences and doesn’t want his name dragged through the media, given his status in society.”

“Shit! Murder?” Will scratched his unshaven face. “Do you think she did it?”

“Does it matter? The police spent all day yesterday questioning her and have complied enough evidence to charge her. Bridget is to remain here at least until her trial.”

“And if she’s found guilty?”

“Then I’ll do my utmost to organise a transfer to an interstate prison where hopefully, no one will recognise her.”

“Shouldn’t we put her into protection until the trial?”

“I’ll offer it, but we both know the decision remains with Bridget.”

“And you need me to keep an eye out for her if she refuses protection.”

“Yes, and try to steer her in the right direction, but not to make it obvious, or the other prisoners may see it as favouritism.”

**** **** ****

Bridget stood naked in the strip search room, awaiting further instructions. Linda Miles couldn’t resist the light-hearted dig as she handed Bridget’s clothes to her fellow officer, Peta Webb, to examine. “How the mighty have fallen.”

“Yeah, I’m disappointed I lost my bet that you’d be the next member of staff to wind up on the wrong side of the bars.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean, Linda,” Bridget sighed. “Can we just get this over and done with, please?”

Linda pointed to the badge on her vest. “See the surname? Use it.” She snapped on a pair of rubber gloves so she could conduct the physical. “Don’t expect any special treatment just because you once worked here. Now bend over and separate your cheeks.”

Bridget did what she was told. “Satisfied?”

Linda handed back her clothes. “Did you really kill someone?”

Bridget shrugged her shoulders, looking deflated. “Apparently so, Miss Miles.”

Linda eyed her with apprehension, unsure whether to believe her. “Get dressed. Mr Jackson is waiting outside to take your photo and fingerprints.”

Will lead Bridget into the New Admissions room and offered her a tissue to wipe the ink off her fingers. “I hope you captured my good side,” she joked to him, regarding the profile photos he had taken of her only moments ago.

“Afraid not. I’ve yet to see a photo which does anyone justice.”

“Thanks for crushing my hopes of using the photos for a modelling career.”

“I don’t understand how you can remain calm after...”

“Don’t mistake my comments for being blasé, Will. Under this laid-back exterior lies a scared shitless human being who desperately needs time out to take it all in. Does that make any sense?”

Will nodded, rubbing his blood-shot eyes. “Yeah, it does. Everyone has their own way of dealing with difficult situations.”

Bridget noticed his fatigued appearance. “And normally, you would offer me to see the prison psychologist, but you don’t have one at the moment.”

“No, we don’t.” Will brought up a new file on the computer. “I need to ask a few questions, then I can allocate you a unit. Full name?”

“Really?”

“I’m sorry, Bridget, but it’s prison procedure.”

Bridget sighed. “Bridget Westfall, born 27th November 1976. Just thought I’d get in first.”

Will used his two-finger typing skills to enter the details slowly into the database. “Partner’s name and emergency contact?”

Bridget tapped the table with her fingernails. “Do we have to do this?” Will remained silent, embarrassed to respond. “Fine. It’s Francesca Doyle.”

She half expected Will to react - even a raised eyebrow - but to his credit, he kept a straight face as he continued typing.

“Are you on any medication and do you have any allergies?”

“You realise this information is listed in my employee file? Or has that already been deleted?” Will looked up and offered her a sympathetic look. “I know, procedures. No medication or allergies.”

“While you’re on remand, you’re allowed to wear civilian clothing.”

“I’d prefer a uniform.” Bridget pointed to herself. “These fancy clothes may bring unwanted attention, plus I’ve always wanted to try teal as it will bring out the blue in my eyes.”

“Wise call. I’ll have some uniforms brought to you within the next 24 hours. I’ve allocated you to H1 so Liz Birdsworth can show you the ropes.”

“You mean someone to babysit me. Because from memory, that’s also Kaz Proctor’s unit.”

“Good to see you’re not easily fooled, but being an ex-member of staff makes you a target. At least you’ll be safe with Kaz’s crew.”

“I was the prison psychologist, not an officer. Handing out punishment was not part of my job description.”

“C’mon Bridget, you know that won’t make a difference to their ‘us versus them’ mentality. Before we head over to your unit, the governor would like a word with you.”

“Vera?”

“It’s Governor or Miss Bennett,” he corrected her. “I’m sorry this has happened to you. If there’s anything I can do to help, please ask me.” He handed her a piece of paper. “The sooner you complete this form, the sooner Franky can visit. Naturally, I’ll place her on your call list, too.”

“Are you this helpful to all new prisoners, or are you acting on Miss Bennett’s orders?”

“You knew the answer before you asked, so I’m going to be upfront because you’re not like the other inmates.”

“Because I was staff, right? You’ve already mentioned that.”

“No, because you’re Franky’s partner, and there are still a few women in here who didn’t get along with her when she was top dog. It’s common knowledge you’re in a relationship with her, which may compromise your safety.”

Will stood to his feet and gestured for Bridget to follow him out into the corridor.

“Look, Will… Mr Jackson, I appreciate the heads up, but that’s the least of my concerns right now.”

“Make it your concern, because you could be stuck in here for the next fifteen years.”

“You think I should place myself in protection, don’t you?”

“Officially, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I neglected to mention it. Unofficially, if the women want to get at you, being in protection won’t stop them.” Will knocked on the governor’s door for the second time that day.

“Thanks, Will,” Vera called out. “Kindly wait outside.”

Bridget stepped into the governor’s office, not expecting the welcomed sight before her. “Franky!”

“You have five minutes, Franky,” Vera said as she exited the room and closed the door behind her.

Bridget rushed at Franky, greeting one another with a passionate kiss. Franky embraced the trembling Bridget in her arms, rubbing her back with a comforting hand and trying to help soothe her flowing tears.

“I hate myself for what I said to you. I’m so sorry, Gidge.”

Bridget released Franky, a scowl appearing upon her face. “I won’t let you blame yourself for what’s happened.”

“But if I hadn’t been so pigheaded, then you wouldn’t have left to let me cool off. We should be enjoying our weekend away, but instead you’re stuck in purgatory because of me.”

“No, baby, it’s not your fault. Please, _please,_ I need you to be strong for me.”

Franky gave a reluctant nod, still not convinced she wasn’t to blame. “I brought a fresh change of clothes to the police station hoping Weller would let me see you, but he refused.”

“You’re here now and that’s what matters.”

“Weller filled me in on the details.”

“Do you think I’m guilty?”

“Nup. You’re no killer, Gidge.” Franky led Bridget over to the seating. “I don’t know who was responsible, but it’s not you.”

“But how can you be so certain? Tell me, how can I possibly prove my innocence, when I could be guilty?”

“I’ve been asking around at Legal Relief. My boss reckons the evidence is heavily stacked against you, but I dunno… it just feels a little too stitched up for my liking.”

“Are you suggesting I was set up?”

“It’s the only plausible explanation. If there is another party involved, then hopefully they’ll make contact soon. Until I know for certain, you need to stick with Kaz and her crew because they’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m scared, Franky. I feel like my memory’s been wiped and it doesn’t help that everyone seems determined to prove my guilt.”

Franky held both Bridget’s hands in her own. “Weller and his cronies can go fuck themselves. I believe you’re innocent and I’ll never stop until I find out the truth.” Franky placed one hand under Bridget’s chin and gave her a reassuring kiss. “I love you, Gidge. Don’t give up on us, okay? Promise me?”

Bridget gazed into those loving green eyes and wished she held an ounce of Franky’s confidence. She was about to reply, to remind Franky she’ll always have her heart, her everlasting love, but Vera knocked and entered the office. Instead, Bridget was left to ponder why Franky leapt up quickly and walked out the room without looking back. If she were standing in Vera’s shoes, she would have seen the tears which were now rolling down Franky’s face.

Bridget gave a heavy sigh. _I didn’t even get the chance to say I love you._

Vera closed the door and gestured for Bridget to sit down again, but she refused. “Before you ask, Miss Bennett, I’m not going into protection.”

Vera knew the drill. Will had offered Bridget his wise words of advice gathered from years of experience. She would have said the same thing had she still been deputy.

“Fair enough. I won’t try to talk you into it, but if you change your mind-”

“Thanks, but I won’t. Listen, I don’t want to put you in an awkward position because we’re friends, so I don’t expect any special treatment. As much as I appreciate you allowing me to see Franky in private, if the other prisoners ever found out, I’d be cactus.”

“Friend or not, I still have a duty of care, and no doubt Will has explained the severity of the situation to you. If anyone makes any threats towards you, I need to know. The last thing I want is another lynching.”

“I’m not Ferguson with plans to take over as top dog.”

“No, you’re in a worse position because Ferguson gave the women a good reason to distrust prison staff after she deceived and controlled them from both sides of the bars.”

**** **** ****

Will accompanied Bridget to H1. “Ladies…” he announced to Kaz, Boomer, Ruby, Allie and Liz, as they sat around the table playing cards.

Allie jumped up from her seat. “Hey, Mr Jackson, is there any more news on Mr Stewart’s death?”

“Not yet, Allie. The way the system works, you’ll most likely hear about it before we do. In the meantime, you all know Bridget Westfall. She’ll be joining your unit.”

“Had enough of Franky and needed to escape and come back to work, Miss Westfall?” Boomer innocently asked.

“No,” Will intervened. “She’s here as an inmate.”

“Yeah, good one, Mr J,” Boomer sniggered. “April 1st was last week!”

Kaz spotted the white laundry basket under Bridget’s arm. “I don’t think this is a joke, Boomer.”

“What the fuck happened?” Ruby asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it, if that’s okay.”

“I’ll leave you to it, Bridget. Liz is your peer worker and will show you around the place.”

“Thank you, Mr Jackson, but I already know my way around.”

Will suddenly felt awkward, like he was the uninvited guest crashing a private party. “Boomer, you have a visitor.”

“Can’t it wait? I wanna hear what Miss Westfall has to say.”

“Now, Boomer.”

Boomer muttered several obscenities under her breath as she reluctantly followed Will out into the corridor.

Liz stepped forward and led Bridget to her cell. “It’s not Buckingham Palace, but at least you’ll have some privacy.”

Bridget dropped the basket on the floor and sighed. “Would you mind if I have a bit of time alone? It’s been a rough couple of days.”

“Sure, love. When you’re ready, you can join us in the communal area and we can discuss the rules, along with any questions you may have.”

Liz stood on the other side of the closed door, shaking her head when she heard the familiar weeping which most newbies succumbed to on their first day. “It doesn’t matter who you are on the outside, we are all the same in here,” she whispered to herself.

**** **** ****

Boomer walked into the visitors’ centre, expecting to see her sister. She had told Mr Jackson, _If it’s that slag, you can tell her to fuck off!_ However, dismay soon turned to delight when she spotted Franky sitting behind a table. Boomer clapped her hands, ecstatic at seeing her best friend. “Look, everyone!” She announced to the room. “It’s Franky! Told all you bitches she wouldn’t forget about me!”

“Heya Booms,” Franky greeted her and threw both arms around Boomer’s wide girth, giving her a loving hug.

“What’s this shit about Miss Westfall? She’s in our unit and won’t say what happened, aye?” Boomer sat on the plastic chair and gave an uneasy laugh. “Did she forget to pay a parking fine or somethin’? Cause it must have been a bloody big fine!”

“I wish! Police suspect her of stabbing a woman to death.”

“Yeah, right, I reckon I could snap her in half like a twig.”

“No shit, Booms. It’s also the reason I’m here, because I need to ask you a huge favour.”

“She like... really killed someone?”

“Honestly? I don’t believe so, but I need to prove her innocence on the outside, and somehow protect her from harm in here at the same time.”

“And you want me to look after her, right?”

Franky nodded. “I also need you to teach her to fight dirty and how to handle a shiv.”

Boomer laughed. “But Miss Westfall is a screw.”

“A psychologist,” Franky reminded her. “And she’s helped many people in here, including you and me.”

“Yeah, I suppose she’s not half bad.”

“You know I love her and I can’t bear to see her rot in this place.” Franky reached out across the table and gave Boomer’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “I can’t do this without you, Booms. Please, help me.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want? An endless supply of Monte Carlos?” Franky punched Boomer playfully on the arm. “Organise a root with some hottie? Yeah! That’s what you want, huh?”

Boomer seriously considered the offer, but declined. “Nah, I got a better idea. How about you be me mate?”

“What are you talking about? We’re besties, you know that.”

“Then how come you never visit me?”

“I saw you a couple of days ago.”

“That was different because you only came back to say goodbye. If Miss Westfall hadn’t been sent here, then you wouldn’t have visited me.”

“That’s complete bullshit and you know it.”

“Is it? I’m lonely without you, Franky.”

“Booms, it’s not that simple. I hate this fucking place. It ghosts me when I’m awake, and it haunts me in my dreams at night. I’m scared that one small fuck-up is all it takes and I’ll be back inside again. You understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I get it. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Cause it’s okay for me to rot in here, but not Miss Westfall, aye?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“The way I see it is real mates stand by you no matter what. If it were reversed, I’d come and visit you.” Boomer’s lips quivered; her eyes downcast to disguise the tears welling in her eyes. “I wouldn’t leave you to rot, because I love you.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s what makes you a better person than me.”

“I miss you, Franky. Almost everyone has left me, but losing you hurt the most.”

Franky felt the raw emotion in Boomer’s shaky voice. “I miss you, too, Booms. And you’re right, mates should always be there for one another. I promise I’ll visit on a fortnightly basis once this shitstorm is over. I’ll even give you my number and you can call me anytime.”

Boomer got her hopes up. “Fair dinkum?”

“Yep, for real. And the promise still stands, even if you choose not to help me and Bridget out.”

“Hang on, how do I know you ain’t bullshitting me?”

“Because I love you and I would never lie to my best mate. Are you in?” Boomer nodded. “Thanks, Booms, you’re the absolute best. Now this is what I want you to do-”

“You know… when I said I loved you earlier, I meant as a friend, right? Like… you know? I like… _blokes_.”

“Yeah, Booms, I understand.” Franky shot her a cheeky grin. “You just keep breaking my heart, you big lug.”

**** **** ****

The following morning, Bridget sacrificed her outdoor exercise to see her lawyer. The news had been grim; he had advised her to plead guilty and hope for a sympathetic judge, but given the Hamsley name was well connected, she would be looking at a minimum of twenty years before being eligible for parole. When she enquired about the toxicology results, he informed her the samples were contaminated and therefore couldn’t be used as evidence. The cynic within couldn’t help but wonder if the judge use his status to ensure a guilty verdict at her trial. To think that only four days ago she was in her own bed making love to Franky, and now…

“Oi, Twiggy, got a minute?” Boomer shouted out to Bridget as she entered the communal area of H1.

Bridget detoured into Boomer’s cell to find her kneeling on her bed, pinning a new picture of Brendan Fevola to her wall. “Twiggy? Is that what people are calling me?”

“Er, yeah, and it’s what’s gonna happen to you if you don’t start defending yourself, aye?”

“I'll just tell them I don’t scare easily.”

“Look, the fancy talk doesn’t work on this side of the bars. People were forced to listen to your shit when you were a psych-thingy, but you try that on them now, and you’ll cop a beatin’.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. And I would prefer everyone calls me Bridget.”

“Whatever. Hey, is it true... you know... that the chick you knocked off is some toffy-nosed judge’s daughter?”

“Who told you that?”

“Franky. But she said you didn’t do it.”

“Isn’t there some unwritten prison code about not having to discuss or reveal my crime?”

“Sort of, but if l was in your shoes, I would let it slip.”

“But I didn’t do it - at least I don’t think I did it. The truth is, I can’t remember.”

“Yeah?” Boomer snorted. “That’s a new one. Listen, every slag in here thinks they’re innocent. You don’t need to tell them the entire story, just bend it a little.”

“I won’t lie.”

“For someone who’s a brainiac, you’re being dumb.”

“What’s my intelligence got to do with my quandary?” Boomer looked upon her with a confused expression. “It means the situation I’m in.”

“Oh, right. The short version is you’re a newbie, which means you’re fresh meat and therefore fair game. Reputation means everything in here, so if you tell people you’re in for murder, then they’ll give you a wide berth... well, the piss-weak ones will.”

“Some will see me as a challenge if they know my crime.”

“Maybe, but if I was you, I’d wanna know upfront the handful of bitches who would want to hurt me. Know your enemies, so you can crack their coconuts before they crack yours, aye? In the meantime, I reckon you should take a crap on your own dunny, and never ever go to the shower block on your own.”

“Thanks, Boomer, but I’ll do it my way.”

“Okay, but it’s your funeral.” Boomer reached into her pocket and pulled out a shiv made from half a pair of small scissors. “You’ll need this.”

“No, I could never stab someone.”

“You don’t need to. If someone comes at you, slice their arm. It should be enough to make them think you’re not an easy target.” Boomer slapped the shiv into Bridget’s hand. “Besides, it’s a gift from Franky, and when you’re ready to admit you can’t do this on your own, I’ll teach you how to punch some tits in. Except don’t tell Kaz, cause I’ll cop another lecture. She’s still mad at me for slammin’ Kim Chang’s head in the fridge door last week.”

Bridget shook her head and dropped the shiv on Boomer’s bed. “Was there anything else?”

Boomer sighed. _I tried_. “Yeah, Mr J dropped off your uniforms when you was with your lawyer. I put them on your bed.”

Bridget entered her cell and held up a teal coloured T-shirt up to inspect it. “I suppose now is a good time for a change of wardrobe.”

Minutes later, Bridget ignored Boomer’s advice and entered the shower block by herself. Tina Mercado and her crew shoved her aside as they left the room.

“Out of the way, Twiggy.”

“It’s Bridget,” she called out after them.

“You needn’t worry about that for much longer,” Tina replied.

Bridget ignored the strange remark, relieved to note that the shower block was now empty, and she had some privacy. She stood in front of the mirror and basin to fish out the shampoo from her toiletries bag, when the door swung open and Juice and her boys strolled in.

Bridget mentally scolded herself and swore under her breath for her lapse of stupidity. _That’s why Tina left in such a hurry. Well, I won’t bow to Juice and her bullies._

She gathered up her personal effects and headed towards the door, but Juice pulled her back by her arm and threw her hard up against the wall. Juice’s second in command, Stella Radic, stepped alongside Juice and spoke on her behalf.

“Juice wants to know where you think you’re going, Twiggy?”

Bridget looked Juice straight in the eye. “It’s Bridget. My name is Bridget.”

“Why not Miss Westfall?” Stella asked her.

“You may call me that if you wish.”

“Here that, Juice?” Stella laughed. “The psychologist still thinks she’s one of _them_. Well, you’re not.”

“Then that would make me one of you, correct?”

Juice scrunched up her face and growled at her.

“Juice says to stop trying to confuse us with that mumbo-jumbo psych bullshit!”

“If I am neither, then what am I?”

“You’re fresh meat, is what you are.”

“And you are?”

“Your welcoming committee,” Stella said, as Juice cracked the knuckles on her fist.

“You don’t intimidate me, Lucy.”

Juice backhanded her hard across the face, the sting bringing tears to Bridget’s eyes.

“No stinkin’ person calls Juice that, especially Franky’s bitch.”

Juice placed both hands on either side of Bridget’s head, boxing her in against the wall. The barely distinguishable words, _You’re mine_ came from her mouth.

Bridget turned her head side on, repulsed by Juice’s putrid breath. “If you hurt me, they’ll know it’s you and you’ll wind up in the slot.”

Stella laughed once more. “Only if you lag. Are you are lagger, Miss Westfall?”

“What do you want, Juice?”

“She wants her pound of flesh for starters.”

“Your gripe is with Franky, not me.”

“It’s not just about Franky, cause Juice has a message for you both.”

Bridget didn’t wait for the inevitable bashing, and ducked under Juice’s flabby arm, running towards the bathroom’s only exit, but the boys hindered her escape by blocking the doorway. She felt the top of her hair pulled back and was then slammed face-first several times into the wall until Stella pulled Juice off Bridget.

“Knock it off, Juice! You’re only supposed to injure the bitch! Are you forgetting we won’t receive any money if you kill her?”

**** **** ****

Kaz and Allie headed down the corridor towards the shower block when Juice and the boys barged through, pushing them aside.

“Hey!” Kaz shouted after them. “Excuse us for getting in your way!”

“What do you think they’re running from?” Allie asked Kaz as they rounded the corner.

“No doubt we’ll find... _fuck!_ ”

Bridget held herself up by using the wall for support as she slowly dragged herself towards them. Her face was bloodied by the deep gash to her forehead, and she held her hand out to them for assistance. “Help me!” She cried out, before collapsing to the ground.

“Get a screw!” Kaz shouted at Allie as she ran over to Bridget, relieved to find she was still alive. “Who did this to you? Was it Juice and her boys?”

Bridget never got the chance to reply as her world faded to black.

**** **** ****

“Hey, Nurse Ratshit, I think she’s waking up!” Franky shouted out frantically to catch the nurse’s attention.

“It’s _Radcliffe!_ How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, whatever. Gidge? Can you hear me?”

Bridget slowly opened her eyes, the sight of Franky leaning over her, bringing much relief. “Hey, baby, I had the worst nightmare. I dreamt I was locked up in Wentworth and got bashed.”

“It’s not a dream, Gidge. You’re in Medical. You’d been smacked around pretty badly when Kaz and Allie found you.”

Bridget managed a weak smile. “That would explain the splitting headache.”

“Do you remember anything about the bashing?”

“No,” Bridget lied when she saw Nurse Radcliffe heading towards them holding a small medicine cup with pills. “I got jumped from behind.”

Franky spotted the nurse and understood. _You don’t lag unless you want an encore performance_.

Vera walked into Medical and stood at the end of the bed, her arms folded tight against her chest. “How are you feeling, Bridget?”

Bridget took the pills the nurse gave her. “Like I’ve been hit by a freight train.”

“Who was responsible? Give me a name and I promise they’ll be transferred to another block immediately.”

“She got hit from behind.”

“Franky, you know better than that,” Vera scolded her. “Is that what happened, Bridget?” She nodded, but Vera didn’t believe either of them. “Will you at least reconsider my offer to put you into protection?”

Bridget shook her head. “No, I won’t.”

The look on Vera’s face expressed disappointment. “I can understand Franky’s mistrust of the prison system, but I expected more from you.”

Franky waited until Vera left the room, and Nurse Radcliffe tended to another prisoner in a nearby bed. “You never told me Vera made a previous offer of protection.”

“What would you have said?”

“That getting yourself placed into protection is like having a target painted on your own back.”

Bridget yawned, the effects of the drugs kicking in. “Then I made the right choice.”

Franky was about to ask her who was responsible, but the nurse interrupted their conversation.

“Bridget needs her rest. You can visit her when she’s released from Medical.”

Franky kissed Bridget lightly on the lips, afraid of hurting her further. “Keep the shiv close,” she whispered in her ear. “And stop being so bloody stubborn and let Boomer take care of you.”


	3. Hierarchy

Bridget sat impatiently on the edge of her bed, waiting for a corrections officer to take her back to H1. After spending nearly a week in Medical, Nurse Radcliffe had given her a clean bill of health and she now hoped to catch the mid-morning exercise period and hopefully enjoy the sunshine without hassles from the other prisoners.

“So kind of you to take me back to my unit,” Bridget said to Linda Miles when she finally put in an appearance.

“Not just yet. You have a visitor.”

Bridget knew who it was and perked up immediately. “Lucky me.”

“Maybe if you’re nice to me, I could rush through the paperwork for a conjugal visit.”

Bridget remembered Franky telling her stories about Linda being bought for a price. Contraband, information, bets. Even a postal service to the outside world without letters being intercepted and scrutinised. At the time she thought it unprofessional that a corrections officer could purposely allow herself to be put into a compromising position, until Franky pointed out that there wasn’t a single prisoner who hadn’t taken advantage of Linda’s services.

_“Even you?” Bridget had asked Franky._

_“All the fucking time! It’s not wise to upset a system which works well, Gidge, especially if you can benefit from it.”_

She had concluded that greed conquers over the fear of being caught. But so does love, given her own indiscreet relationship with Franky when she worked at the prison.

“Uh huh. What’s the going rate, Miss Miles? Or do I get a discount for being ex-staff?”

“One greenback, same as everyone else. Are you interested?”

“A hundred dollars?” Bridget let out a long whistle. “I’m not that desperate.”

“You’ll change your mind soon enough, but if you drop me in the shit, I’ll deny everything and we’ll never trade again. Visitors may suddenly be turned away. Understand?”

“Loud and clear.”

“You’re learning quickly.” Linda used her swipe card to admit them both into the admissions and visitors area. “Still, it must be hard on Franky. She’s finally free, and now you’re stuck in here for years.”

“I haven’t been found guilty yet.”

“True, but it seems like a tragic waste to me, especially since she’s young enough to adapt to life on the outside. It wouldn’t be a pleasant feeling for her knowing she’s trapped in limbo, would it?”

“No, it wouldn’t.” Linda’s observation sapped Bridget’s enthusiasm for Franky’s visit, replacing it with a dark cloud which now penetrated her thoughts.

“Personally, I wouldn’t feel comfortable asking someone to wait that long, but each to their own.” Linda led her into the strip search room. “Guess what time it is?”

“But I’ve just come straight from Medical.”

“And you could have a syringe shoved up your arse, for all I know. If you want to see Franky, you must strip like everyone else.”

**** **** ****

Franky sat at table four in the visitors centre, eagerly awaiting Bridget’s arrival and wasted time by observing the surrounding people, trying to guess their stories. _That guy sitting at table three has come to tell his partner he’s leaving her for someone else. Table six appears too relaxed. Must be a regular and is familiar with the system. Probably the partner of a lifer. And that one at table seven? She keeps looking nervously at the screws. Definitely bullied into sneaking some gear in._

Finally, the door opened and prisoners walked through in single file, with Bridget the last to enter. _Pecking order,_ Franky thought to herself. The crepe bandage Bridget wore around her head when Franky visited her in Medical, was now replaced with several butterfly stitches to help seal the long cut on her forehead, and even though the swelling had subsided and the bruising a faded yellowish colour, it pained her knowing that Bridget was bashed as retribution for her previous activities.

_Much easier to get at me through Bridget, because the person responsible was obviously too gutless to take a swipe at me when I was an inmate._

In that instant, Franky made a decision. It was a crazy idea and Bridget would be furious with her, but it was the only way she could protect her.

_Fuck the consequences._

Franky rose from the table and held Bridget tightly, taking a moment to inhale the familiar scent she missed so dearly. “How’s the concussion?”

“It’s cleared and the headaches have gone, too.”

“That’s a good start. How are you holding up?”

“Let’s just say I’d prefer something more grand and elegant like the Hotel Windsor.”

Franky noted the sarcastic tone and sat down opposite Bridget as per visitor regulations. “Are you going to tell me who put you in Medical?”

Bridget appeared distant, like her mind was elsewhere and she didn’t want to be there. “I tripped and hit the ground face-first. It happens a lot in prison, right?”

“Yeah, it does. Especially if you’re a newbie, because we all know how clumsy they can be.” Bridget ignored the insinuation. “Can you at least tell me if you’ve heard from your lawyer?”

“I saw him last week and he advised to plead guilty because it’s the only way I’ll get a reduced sentence. Even with a plea, I’ll still be looking at twenty years.”

“You’re not guilty.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Please don’t do this to yourself.”

Bridget shrugged. “Do what?”

“That whole hardened act to make me believe you’re coping. Stop being so fucking cold because I’ve been in your shoes, remember?”

“So what am I thinking? Preferably in order of appearance so I know what to expect.”

“Okay, I’ll switch roles and play psychologist. Firstly, you’ll want to believe the system is reliable and will find you innocent, but you’re also petrified because your life is in the hands of a jury comprising of strangers who know nothing about you other than your crime.”

“And when they find me guilty?”

“ _If_ they find you guilty, any hopes of freedom will be quashed as the realisation sinks in that this place is now your home. And by the time you’re eligible for parole, society will have moved on and you’ll still be living in a distant past, convinced you’ll never be able to catch up.”

“You mean the entire world will have moved on, except me and... _nevermind_.”

Franky could see what was going through her mind and reached out across the table and cradled Bridget’s hands in her own, stroking them gently with her thumbs. “But most of all, you’ll persuade yourself to push me away because you won’t think it’s fair on me to wait for you. It will not work, Gidge. You never gave up on me despite all the shit I did and put you through over Mike Pennisi's murder, and I’m never going to give up on you. _Ever_. Someone out there knows the truth, and I will find them.”

“Let’s hope they don’t sit on it for the next twenty years,” Bridget added, bitterly.

“Yeah, and you can stop feeling fucking sorry for yourself and give me some straight answers so I can help you. Who redecorated your face?”

Bridget pulled her hands away. “Isn’t that considered lagging?”

“C’mon Gidge, I’m not a screw, so don’t feed me that lagging bullshit.” Bridget remained silent. “Was it Kosta or Tina and their crews? Or Juice and the boys?” Bridget flinched slightly at hearing Juice’s name. “I knew it! Fucking Juice!”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“How? You’re fresh meat and an ex-member of staff. Why the fuck won’t you let Boomer take care of you?”

“Because there’s always a better solution than resorting to violence.”

“Depends on the circumstances. Take you, for instance. What’s the big plan? Talk your way out? Because that won’t work in here. You need to forget everything you learnt as a psychologist and start thinking like an inmate, if you’re to have any chance of surviving in Wentworth.”

“I’ve already had a similar conversation with Boomer. Okay, so what do you suggest? Can you fix my situation from the outside? Because Boomer can’t babysit me 24/7.”

Franky looked around to ensure no one was listening. “There is something I can do, but not from the outside. I’m going to break parole.”

“Baby, that’s not even funny.”

“Nothing serious, just something small, like shoplifting.”

“No, it’s not worth it!”

“I have to do something, seeing as you won’t stand up for yourself. I figure I’ll get six months max, but it will be long enough to protect you.”

“Six months? I’m looking at twenty years! If you believe I’ve been set up, then I need you on the outside so you can help clear my name.”

“Nup. Right now, your safety is a higher priority. That way I can stop my old Wentworth foes from hurting you and then once I’m released, I can work on clearing your name.”

“What if challenging your enemies starts a bloodied war, and you get shived? Or you end up doing fifteen years for killing someone? I won’t let you do this.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“How dare you say that? I need to learn to fight my own battles in here without your help.”

“And you’ll be dead without my help. There’s nothing you can say which will change my mind.”

Bridget looked away, grinding her teeth; a frustrated frown formed upon her face. She closed her eyes, hoping to fight back the tears long enough to muster the courage required.

_Forgive me, Franky._

“Then you leave _me_ no choice.” Bridget stood up and flipped the small round table on its side. “Stay the fuck away from me!” Everyone in the room stopped talking and turned their attention towards the commotion at table four. “I never want to see you again! Got it? It’s over between us!”

Linda left the safety of the observation booth and approached Bridget. “Westfall, calm down or you’ll be taken back to your unit.”

“Gidge, I know what you’re about to do. Please reconsider,” Franky pleaded.

“Then come and get me, you fucking screw!” Bridget picked up her chair and threw it at Linda, who dodged the unwanted missile.

“Right, Westfall,” Linda said as she pulled the handcuffs from her pouch. “You’ve just earned yourself a nice little holiday in the slot for attempted assault against an officer.”

“May as well make it worth my while!” Bridget spat in her face, then punched her squarely on the nose. “Fuck off, Linda!”

Franky stood, dumbfounded, watching as two burly male officers brought Bridget crashing down to the ground, twisting her arms behind her back and slapping on the handcuffs. The sight of Bridget being carted away cussing, kicking and screaming, would forever stay in Franky’s memory.

“Smart move, Gidge,” Franky mumbled to herself, concerned and impressed at the same time. “Way to stop me breaking parole.”

It would be a fortnight before Franky could visit her again, but at least it meant Bridget would be safe from Juice and the boys whilst locked up in the slot. Not to mention that the prison grapevine would buzz once more about how Wentworth’s ex-psychologist had attacked a prison screw.

Bridget Westfall, inmate #240871, had just gone up a few notches in the prison hierarchy.

But was it enough to protect her?

**** **** ****

Franky stepped out of the main entrance and into the car park of Wentworth. Even though she had visited the place numerous times upon her release, the teal-painted walls and the sound of the sliding gates still made her nervous and a little claustrophobic. She deeply inhaled the fresh air through her nose and slowly exhaled through the mouth to help relax her - a trick Bridget had taught her to help deal with anxiety. The ringing mobile in her pocket brought her back to reality.

“Hello?” Franky said as she walked over to her car.

_“Hello, Franky. Remember me?”_

Franky knew who owned that calm and calculating voice, but didn’t want to admit it. For saying the name out loud sounded preposterous; an impossibility, and it would also confirm her worst fear.

_“Do you need a hint? I’m not Bea Smith, although some people believe I’m dead and buried.”_

A chill went up Franky’s spine and her heart pounded in her chest as she frantically scanned around the carpark, afraid the source was nearby.

“Ferguson? Every police officer is out looking for you.”

_“Yes, a slight inconvenience, but you know what they say - you can’t keep a good governor down, can you, Franky?”_

“What did you mean by dead and buried?”

_“That’s a story for another time. Tell me, how’s Miss Westfall coping with life on the inside? I hear she had a nasty accident which landed her in Medical.”_

“How did you know about her beating?”

_“Let’s not worry about that, shall we? My immediate concern is you’ll do something rash like purposely get yourself arrested, so you can protect the delectable Miss Westfall.”_

“How is this any of your business?”

_“Because killing Taylor Hamsley will be a waste, should you end up being arrested. You are more use to me on the outside, than stuck inside Wentworth.”_

“You killed Taylor? Why?”

_“I shall reveal my intentions when we meet. Look upon it as a couple of ex-cons reuniting to catch up on old times.”_

“And if I refuse?”

_“Then Miss Westfall’s next trip will be to the morgue.”_

Franky swallowed hard. “You’re bluffing. You can’t access Bridget without revealing yourself.”

_“Agreed, I refuse to get my hands dirty to prove a point. But there are other ways.”_

“Such as?”

 _“Let’s just say m_ _oney buys friends and enemies every time – even behind bars._ _”_

 _It’s got to be Juice and her boys_ , Franky thought to herself as she chewed her lower lip, not knowing how she could avoid this meeting. “Okay, I’ll be there. Time, date and place?”

“ _I’ll text through the details at my earliest convenience. Oh, and Franky, don't try and be a hero. Bridget’s life depends upon you following my instructions and not contacting the police.”_

**** **** ****

Bridget rested on the rock-hard bed. The slot turned out to be a place which gave her solitude; a place to think without the fear of unwelcomed visitors. Kaz had organised for Boomer to deliver all the daily meals, and with Liz visiting as peer worker, Bridget could keep up with the latest news.

“You’re a fuckin’ star, aye?” Boomer said to her three days after being slotted. “The whole prison is talking about how you socked Smiles in the face. I saw her earlier, and she’s got a bandaged nose, two black eyes and a foul temper towards anyone who dares to ask her who won fight club.” Boomer snorted out loud.

“It wasn’t one of my brighter ideas, Boomer.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t lag on Juice. You took a belting and kept your mouth shut, and that makes you square with her over Franky’s dealings. Now you only gotta worry about becoming her bitch.”

“How did you know it was Juice?”

“You just told me, but don’t worry cause I won’t tell anyone. Listen, the offer still stands, I can teach you how to punch some tits in.”

Bridget marvelled at Boomer’s resourcefulness. “Thanks, Boomer, but if I lower myself to Juice’s level, then I’m no better than her.”

“She’ll never leave you alone. When you change your mind, let me know.” Boomer looked around the room. “Hey, you’re in me old cell. I always seem to get slotted in here whenever I misbehave, which is a lot.”

“How can you tell?”

Boomer pointed to the window. “Who do you think scratched all those dick pics? That’s some of me best artwork, aye?” Boomer retrieved the tray with its untouched dinner from the bed. “You need to start eatin’, Twiggy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Boomer left Bridget to her thoughts. It was going to be a quiet night in the slot with the last of the troublemakers released back into gen-pop earlier that day. If it wasn’t for the hard bed, Bridget would probably get a decent night’s sleep, but it didn’t really matter given she suspected she would be hosting a visitor sometime soon. An hour later, the door opened and Vera entered her cell.

“What took you so long?” Bridget asked her.

“I’ve been busy.”

“Uh-huh. And with all the other inmates back in gen-pop, there’s no chance of us being overheard, right?”

“That too. Plus, I was hoping the time alone did you some good.”

“You mean time to reflect and analyse my uncharacteristic behaviour?” Bridget sat up in bed, leaning against the wall. “Whilst I’m sorry Linda copped the brunt of my outrage, I don’t regret my reasoning.”

“Which was?”

Bridget laughed. “That, my friend, would be lagging.”

Vera joined Bridget on the bed. “Are we still friends?”

“In here? Yes. Out there in gen-pop? No.”

“Image is everything, right?”

“And safety is paramount.”

“Then why won’t you take up Boomer’s offer?”

Bridget looked at her in surprise. “You’ve been speaking to Franky.”

“She’s concern for your welfare, as am I.”

“I’m astonished you would consider her suggestion, given you would have to punish me should anything happen.”

“I’d rather punish you for defending yourself, than bury you. Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. You’re being released back into gen-pop at the end of this week.”

“You’re kidding? That’s a week early!”

“The Department has overridden me regarding your punishment. They believe it wouldn’t reflect well having an ex-member of staff locked away in the slot as it shows our lack of control over the prisoners.”

“But the women will look upon it as favouritism!”

“I explained that to them, but they said if the officers do their job, then there will be no further outbreaks of violence against you.”

Bridget sighed. “So, that’s it, I’m back to square one.”

“Personally, I thought it was an excellent idea getting yourself thrown in here to protect yourself against Franky’s enemies. Especially since they also put you into Medical.”

“Is that what she told you?”

“No, but it’s what I would do if I were in your predicament.”

“You know I can’t lag, but I’m impressed. Nothing gets past you, anymore.”

“I can’t afford to. With Jake dead and a baby on the way, the stakes are a lot higher.”

“I’m pleased you kept the baby and am sorry about Jake. I know he was a bit of a shithead, but he didn’t deserve to die.”

Vera gave an uneasy laugh. “A bit? I’d say a lot. But yes, you are right and the worst part is, my daughter will grow up without a father.”

“You’re going to have a girl?” Bridget broke out in a wide smile. “That’s wonderful!”

Vera nodded and pulled out a long gold necklace from under her white shirt with an engagement ring attached. “Jake was going to propose to me, but he never got the chance. Before he died, he gave this to the firefighter along with a message to say he loved me and the baby. Do you think he meant it?”

“Yes, it’s possible, despite all he put you through. Sometimes it takes a life-changing event to make that person appreciate how lucky they are.”

“Like becoming a father?” Bridget nodded in reply. “I guess I’ll never find out. Besides, I don’t think I would have accepted his proposal, anyway.”

Bridget observed Vera fidgeting with the ring as she said those words.

 _You don’t keep something that close to your heart unless you loved him_.

Vera lifted herself awkwardly off the bed. “I’ve missed our little talks over a bottle of red wine.”

“So have I.”

“As one friend to another, I can’t guarantee your safety, so take Franky’s advice and let Boomer teach you how to defend yourself, because I’d be devastated if anything happened to you.”


	4. The Grapevine

Bridget had been looking forward to her first meal since being released from the slot earlier that morning, but was disheartened when she prodded the rock-hard wholemeal roll with her finger as it was placed on her lunch tray. “What’s this?” She asked Kim Chang, who had just poured a ladle filled with thick sludge into a bowl.

Kim hacked up a gob full of saliva and spat it into the bowl. “Beef and mushroom soup with an added extra for Franky’s whore.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Remember, I had her first,” Kim reminded her.

“But you never had her heart. That belongs to me. Kindly replace the soup.”

“Fuck you!”

“Westfall!” Linda bellowed from the other side of the room. “Take your meal and sit down.”

Bridget reluctantly accepted the bowl and moved further down the line intending to ditch the soup and join H1 at their table, when Juice pushed in directly behind her and elbowed her in the ribs, spilling the contents down the front of her white t-shirt. The cold soup penetrated through the thin cotton, leaving a dark brown stain.

“Geez, you’re clumsy, Twiggy!” Stella laughed.

Juice reached out and slapped the tray out of Bridget’s hands; the loud noise it produced as it smashed to the ground captured the attention of everyone in the room.

“Westfall!” Linda yelled once more. “Clean that mess up!”

With her hands on her hips, Bridget stared Juice down, refusing to break eye contact. “No. You know damn well I’m not responsible, Miss Miles.”

“How’s another week in the slot for insubordination sound to you?”

Kaz observed the standoff from her table. From her viewpoint, she had witnessed the lead up to the incident and could see where it was heading. “It was an accident,” she called out to Linda. “Right, Bridget?”

“An accident,” Bridget repeated after a few more intense moments had passed. She knelt down and mopped up the soup with a serviette when Juice deliberately stepped on Bridget’s hand as she walked past in full view of Linda Miles, safely assured there would be no repercussions. Bridget winced, but held back a yelp, refusing to give Juice the satisfaction of further humiliating her in front of everyone, and when she returned to the bain-marie to fetch a refill, Linda’s well-placed hand on the bowl prevented her from pouring more soup.

“You’ve had your lunch, Westfall, now get out.”

Bridget looked up at Linda’s broken nose and, for one split second, thought about breaking it again. “Yes, Miss Miles.”

“Wait a moment. You owe me an apology,” Linda said loud enough for everyone to hear. “For breaking my nose.”

“Why? To apologise indicates remorse and I have no regrets whatsoever in breaking your nose.” Bridget placed the bowl back on the serving table and walked out of the dining room with a smirk upon her face and her head held high, as the sound of the inmates’ laughter echoed in her ears.

Later that afternoon Bridget entered the visitor centre and immediately spotted Franky at the back of the room. She weaved her way around several tables, failing to notice Kosta’s outstretched leg, and tripped over it.

“You are still a teacher’s pet,” Kosta muttered under her breath.

“Kosta!” Will shouted from across the room. “Try that again and you’ll wind up in the slot.”

“It was an accident, Mr Jackson. Honest.”

Franky rushed over and helped Bridget to her feet. She clenched her fist and shot Kosta a killer stare, but Bridget pushed her towards their table, telling her it wasn’t worth it.

“You should have said something,” Franky told Bridget as they sat down. “Otherwise you’re setting yourself up for more grief.”

“Why are you bothered? I’m not.”

“I hate seeing you like this, Gidge. It’s like you’ve given up.”

“Maybe I’m not as resilient as you.”

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re the strongest person I know.”

“What’s the point? I tried and failed, remember? Ask Linda Miles.”

“Yeah, but they now know you’re not a lagger and that goes a long way in here. I have to say, getting yourself thrown in the slot was a smart move.”

“You gave me the idea.”

“I did? When?”

“When we first met. You got yourself purposely slotted to avoid Tina and her crew, remember?”

Franky recalled the memory. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I? Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”

“I didn’t mean what I said to you last time, it’s just that...”

“You let this place get inside your head, right?” Bridget nodded. “Takes more than that to scare me away, Gidge. Nice try, though.”

“Boomer thinks I should tell people I murdered that poor girl. She believes most of the other inmates will leave me alone.”

“She’s right. Don’t you get it yet? Prison is all about survival and if you don’t play the game, you lose. Kosta tripping you up as you walked into the visitor centre was not just an act of bullying – she was stamping her authority over you like you’re one of her shitkickers. Do understand what that means? She’s trying to claim you as her mule so she can use you to get gear in.”

“Thanks, but I figured that out for myself. Kosta can’t make me do anything that I don’t want to do.”

“Yeah? I blackmailed Bea into bringing gear in. Told her she’d never speak to her daughter on the phone ever again, if she didn’t comply.” Franky leaned forward. “Newbies get exploited because they don’t know how to work the system, and Bea learnt this the hard way. Survival of the smartest, not the fittest. That’s what it’s all about.”

“I was hoping I’d earned enough brownie points from whacking Linda Miles.”

“You did, but that little stunt the Department pulled by releasing you from the slot a week early, has the other inmates believing you’re being favoured. Keep your guard up or you’ll cop another bashing because of it, and for fuck’s sake, tell the others why you’re in here!”

“I can’t because I would feel like I’m admitting to myself out loud that I’m guilty. The fact that it hasn't been confirmed, is what gives me hope. Please, baby, I need you to understand this.”

“You needn’t worry about that anymore. I know for certain that Juice won’t leave you alone, because she’s being paid off to give you a hard time to keep me in line.”

“What do you mean? By whom?”

“Okay, this is where it gets weird and you’re not going to believe me.”

“Unless Ferguson’s somehow blackmailing you into helping her on the outside, I’ll believe anything at this point.” Bridget laughed until Franky didn’t respond, the look of concern upon her face a dead giveaway. “Franky? Oh, shit... I nailed it, didn’t I?”

Franky nodded. “It sounds crazy, right? But she called me just after I saw you the last time and knew the real reason you’re stuck inside here, when your name hasn’t been released to the media.”

Bridget took a few moments to take it all in. “But if she’s on the run, why would she contact you and risk being caught?”

“I don’t know, but she wants to organise a meetup.”

“No way! Ferguson is a psychopath incapable of feeling empathy or guilt. You need to go to the police or she’ll kill you.”

“I can’t! She’s the reason you’re in here!”

“Are you saying she murdered Taylor Hamsley?”

“Yeah, she admitted it, but I can’t prove it, can I? If I go to the police, she’ll order Juice and her boys to kill you.”

“You’re right, it sounds crazy, but it makes sense. When Stella pulled Juice off me in the shower block, she reminded Juice that if they kill me, they won’t receive any money.”

“Ferguson mentioned money buys friends and enemies every time, even behind bars. I’ll bet she’ll pay them later, to ensure they don’t finish the job until she’s ready to strike.”

“Do you think they know it’s her?”

“No way. There’s too much at stake, and Ferguson wouldn’t trust Juice. She’ll be using her like she has with everyone else over the years. But the best news is-”

“I’m innocent,” Bridget completed the sentence.

“Exactly. Which is why it’s important for you to accept Boomer’s help. It’s time to let slip why you’re stuck in here.”

For the first time, Bridget appeared to think about the repercussions of remaining silent. “How do I drop something like that in a conversation and get people to believe me? Don’t forget, it’s not just Juice and the boys giving me grief.”

“Yeah, been thinking about that. Let’s go straight to the source with the biggest mouth.”

Franky left her seat and strolled over to where Kosta was seated with her older sister. She placed her hand upon Kosta’s shoulder and dug her nails in hard.

“Heya, Kosta, long time, no see.”

“What the fuck? You’re hurting me!”

Franky released her grip and sat down beside Kosta. “That’s nothing compared to what Bridget will do to you if you don’t leave her alone. She’s close to breaking point and when she explodes, I’d hate to be in your shoes.”

“Fuck off, Franky, you no longer have any pull in here. Twiggy is fair game.”

“Do you remember that judge’s daughter who was found stabbed two weeks’ ago? The one where the murderer’s name was suppressed because of the brutality of the crime?”

Kosta laughed. “Are you saying Twiggy killed that rich bitch? Cause now I know you’re bullshitting me.”

“Am I? Think back to when Bridget was first admitted. When was that?”

“It was... about two weeks’ ago.” Franky could almost hear the cogs in Kosta’s brain slowly turning. “No way!”

“Don’t take my word for it - ask Smiles. After the humiliating beating she copped, I’m sure she’d be happy to go against the governor’s orders and confirm Bridget as the killer. She stabbed that chick eighteen times. Can you believe that?” Kosta peeped over Franky’s shoulder, looking at the diminutive woman known as Twiggy, thinking back to Bridget rebelling against both Juice and Smiles in the dining room that morning. Franky pressed the point further. “Eighteen times, eighteen holes. When the police arrested her at the crime scene, she told them she created a new golf course out of that chick’s body and then asked if she could borrow a driver club so she could tee off.”

Kosta frowned in disgust. “If what you say is real, then why are you still with that sicko?”

“Hey, she helped get me out of here and besides, she’s a bloody good fuck. You know how it is for us crims, right?” Franky gave Kosta a wink and slapped her hard on the back. “Remember, ask Smiles.”

“Franky,” Will called out to her. “Get back to your own table or I’ll terminate the visit.”

“Sure thing, Mr J!” She called out to him. “See ya around, Kosta.”

“What a gullible dumb-fuck,” Franky muttered to herself as she headed back to her own table. “Watch this,” she said to Bridget as they observed Kosta give her sister a quick farewell hug, and approached Linda Miles, who then escorted her from the visitor centre.

“The grapevine in this joint is fucking poisonous, Gidge, but if you’re smart, you can make it work to your advantage. It’s all part of the game and give it an hour and the whole place will know. That should get Kosta, Tina and their crews off your back, but Juice has shit-for-brains and is also your biggest threat due to having a golden carrot dangling under her nose. That said, I reckon by the end of the day Boomer won’t be the only one willing to help you out.”

**** **** ****

Bridget strolled back slowly from the visitor centre, distracted with the news Franky had told her. Despite the dangerous circumstances of Ferguson blackmailing Franky, she felt a glimmer of hope.

_I’m innocent. I really am! I didn’t kill anyone!_

She froze on the spot when Tina and her crew approached, but at the last moment detoured around her without as much as a snide remark. True to form, the prison grapevine was lightning fast, and she noticed other inmates giving her a wide berth in the corridors. Even Kosta - who was minus her crew - looked repulsed and turned the opposite way. Bridget could have sworn she heard Kosta mutter something about a golf course, but was unsure why. It didn’t matter, for Franky and Boomer were right, there was a prison hierarchy which most inmates respected, as long as she didn’t run into-

“Word on the grapevine is you’re in for murder,” Stella asked her.

“That’s right.” Bridget ignored Stella and faced Juice, her newfound bravado threatening to crumble at any moment. “Do you wish to make an issue of it?”

“What for? Juice sees that as a turn-on.”

Juice gestured for Stella to keep watch. She flipped over the writing pad attached to a string tied around her neck and pointed to the hand-written note.

_Your my bitch now_

Bridget read the note. “You spelt _you’re_ wrong.”

Juice grabbed her by the scruff of her collar and pushed her up against the wall, but Stella shouted out that Mr Jackson was heading their way. She released Bridget moments before Will turned the corner.

“Everything okay here, ladies?”

Juice grunted and gave him a thumbs up.

“Bridget?”

“Everything is fine, Mr Jackson,” she said as she straightened her shirt. “Juice was just showing me some pictures she drew. She’s quite an artist. Would you like to see them?”

Juice’s eyes widened, and she shook her head, quickly shoving the writing pad under her hoodie as she pushed past Will, with Stella following hot on her heels.

“Is Juice a problem, Bridget?”

“No, Mr Jackson,” she lied. Despite his concern, Bridget noticed Will seemed withdrawn. “Are you okay? You look exhausted, like you’re heavily burdened.”

“I have a lot on my mind at the moment, but nothing that a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix. Listen, if Juice gives you any trouble, let me know.”

 _In other words, it’s none of your business_ , Bridget thought to herself. “Fine. Will that be all, Mr Jackson?” She took his curt nod as a dismissal, grateful that he had saved her from another beating.

Bridget entered her cell and heaved into the toilet bowl, tears forming out of frustration. “They’re never going to leave me alone!”

“You’ve got that right.”

Bridget jumped in fright at the voice, turning to see Kaz standing behind her. “I was just-”

“Don’t bother, I’ve already had a special delivery from the grapevine today. Only it hasn’t stopped everyone, has it?” Kaz gestured for Bridget to join her in the communal area. “I think it’s time we had a talk.”

Bridget followed her out to discover Allie, Ruby, Boomer, and Liz congregating around the table. It appeared she was the star attraction, but Kaz held out a reassuring hand and guided her to a vacant chair.

“You don’t have to do this on your own. You’ve helped all of us at different times to battle our own demons, and now it’s our turn to help you fight yours.”

“Yeah,” Boomer chipped in between a mouthful of biscuit. “Cause, like, if we don’t do somethin’, they’ll be carrying you out in a wooden box.”

“You’re right,” Bridget conceded. “I need your help.”

“So, you’re finally ready to join our crew,” said Ruby. “About bloody time.”

Kaz held both hands up before anyone else could speak. “Hang on, I’m not finished, yet. What I need to know is why Juice and her boys have got it in for you so badly?” Kaz asked Bridget. “She’s like a dog with a bone and I reckon if we try to take it away from her, she’ll bite back hard. What’s her deal?”

“I used to work here, remember? Plus, I’m Franky’s partner.”

“No, there’s more to it than that. What are you hiding?” Bridget looked downwards, remaining silent. “Look, we’ve got your back, but you have to be honest with us. We’re about to put our arses on the line for you, and we need to know upfront if it’s worth it.”

Bridget got up and checked the corridor, ensuring no officers were on patrol. “What I’m about to tell you... can’t leave this unit.”

“You know you can rely on us,” Kaz said. “Right, girls?”

Murmurs of agreement came from everyone in the room.

“Joan Ferguson killed Taylor Hamsley and set me up for the murder.”

Boomer dropped her biscuit on the ground. “No fuckin’ way! I call bullshit!”

“It’s true!”

Boomer stomped over and lifted Bridget up by her collar. “You’re lying! That bitch is fertiliser!”

“Let her go, Boomer!” Kaz shouted at her. “That’s impossible. I know for a fact…” Kaz stopped herself from going any further. “Your information is incorrect.”

Bridget tidied her collar for the second time that day. “Tell that to Franky. Ferguson contacted her and wants to organise a meeting. If Franky doesn’t do as she says, then Juice has been instructed to kill me.”

“So Juice and her cronies know the Freak is al… er, back on the scene?” Kaz asked her.

 _Why does Kaz keep correcting herself?_ “No. They don’t care as long as they receive money deposited into their bank accounts once the job is complete.”

Ruby looked over at Allie and knew exactly what she was thinking. “Allie, I...”

“I knew it! It was all for fucking nothing!” Allie said angrily, as she stormed off to her cell, slamming the door shut.

Ruby jumped up to follow, but Liz grabbed her hand to prevent her from doing so. “Allie needs some space, love. You know Bea will always be a part of her, and if it’s true about the Freak…”

Bridget noted the stiff body language of everyone in the room, like they were all hiding something from her. “Is there something you’re not telling-”

Kaz slammed the side of her fist against the door of the nearest cell. “Fuck!”

“I’m sorry, Kaz,” Bridget said. “I’ve only just found out from Franky.”

“It’s not that.” Kaz thought about revealing Ferguson’s killer, but decided against it. “Talk about a monumental fuck up!”

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll just check in on Allie and make sure she’s okay.”

“I’ll do it,” Bridget offered. “May as well put my skills to good use.”

Bridget knocked on Allie’s door. “Hey, mind if I join you?”

“Yeah, come in.” Allie quickly wiped away her tears as Bridget made herself comfortable on the bed beside her. “Is it true? About the Freak?”

“I’m afraid so.” Bridget handed her a tissue to blow her nose.

“I had a gut feeling about Ferguson when Mr Stewart turned up dead, but surely it was impossible.”

“Jake? What’s his death got to do with Joan Ferguson?”

Allie ignored the question. “I thought with Ferguson gone, Bea could finally rest in peace. Now it feels like... her death was a tragic waste, and if I hadn’t pursued her, then she would still be alive.”

“Unfortunately, Bea and Joan were always going to face off with one another because of the animosity between them. And even though there’s no denying Bea’s demise was tragic, your actions did not lead to her death.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Because Bea would have died a slow death in here, even if Ferguson hadn’t killed her. But then you entered her life and saved her from herself.”

“Me? But how?”

“Bea came to see me not long before she died.”

“She never mentioned it.”

“I’m not surprised. She was still top dog and I should imagine someone in her position wouldn’t want anyone knowing in case they saw it as a weakness.”

“Several people were already questioning her effectiveness as top dog.”

“Exactly. Speaking to Bea made me realise you gave her something that no other person had given her - love. Genuine love. Bea was awkward with the whole idea of love and sex, because she hadn’t experienced either without conditions attached. But you became her one beacon of light - her reason to live, and not just exist. She just needed affirmation that it’s okay to have deep feelings for a person, regardless of their gender.”

“What did you say to change her mind?”

“In summary, I told her to fuck the labels.”

“So I have you to thank for guiding her to me.”

“Bea was an intelligent woman and would have worked it out, eventually. I just gave her a gentle prod in the right direction.”

“I miss her so much.” Allie burst into a fresh round of tears, and Bridget placed a comforting hand on her knee. “The pain sometimes becomes so overwhelming, that I feel like it’s trying to choke me. How can I ever get past that?”

“It becomes easier to manage over time, but just remember, Bea will always be a part of you,” Bridget pointed to Allie’s heart. “In here. Treasure those memories always, and she’ll never truly be gone.”

“But I feel guilty being with Ruby, like I’m betraying Bea’s memory. If she were to walk through that door right now, only then would I feel complete again. Our time together was brief, and I wish I could speak to her one last time.”

“What would you say to her?”

“How much I love her and that she has my heart. And I’ll never give it to anyone else, not even Ruby. I guess I’ve resigned myself to spending the rest of my life alone - a bit like Bea before I came along.”

“It needn’t be like that. You’re punishing yourself and Bea wouldn’t want that for you because she knew firsthand what it felt like to be lonely and unhappy. You’ve been given a second chance with Ruby, don’t throw it away.”

“Yeah, maybe. Hey, you won’t tell Ruby about what I said? I mean, she’s a cool chick and I don’t want to hurt her, and perhaps over time I could learn to love her.”

“I won’t breech our confidentiality or your trust.”

Kaz knocked at the door. “Are you going to be okay, Bubba?”

“Yep,” Allie looked to Bridget and gave her a warm smile “Having a psychologist as a friend is proving handy.”

Kaz agreed. “Yeah, we are fortunate, although I’m sure Bridget would much rather dish out advice from the safety of her old office. When you’re both ready, we’re about to continue the meeting. I think I may have come up with a solution.”

The residents of H1 waited for Allie and Bridget to rejoin them. Allie snuggled up to Ruby, leaning her head against her shoulder for comfort.

“This isn’t going to be another one of those long and boring speeches?” Boomer asked out loud.

Kaz glared at her to quieten down. “Okay girls, listen up. What we have here,” Kaz pointed to Bridget. “Is a bona fide innocent person who needs our protection. As of now, we close ranks around Bridget. She is not to go anywhere unattended, for any length of time.”

“What... not even the dunny?”

“She can use the toilet in her own cell, Boomer,” said Liz.

“Why don’t we put Juice out of action for a while?” Ruby suggested. “Her crew would be useless without her.”

“No!” Kaz shouted in frustration. “What have I said about violence? Besides, if Ferguson got to them, then she can get to anyone else. We don’t know who we can trust, and that goes for the screws. Bridget, if anyone visits you in the middle of the night, make a shitload of noise and we’ll come running. Just don’t leave your cell under any circumstances without us knowing, okay?”

“Sure, I can do that.”

“I’ll put the word out not to touch Bridget or they’ve got me to deal with. I don’t approve of anyone fighting, but Bridget is a walking target and needs to be able to protect herself from harm. Boomer and Ruby, I want you both training Bridget in the outdoor gym where everyone can see we’re taking things seriously. Any questions?”

“When do we start the training?” Ruby asked Kaz.

“First thing tomorrow.”

With the meeting now over, Bridget headed back to her cell to change into her pyjamas, but was surprised when Boomer and Ruby followed her in.

“I know what Kaz said and all, but me and Ruby have got some extra trainin’ for you in the shower block tomorrow before dinner.”

“I thought Kaz wanted me visible to the other inmates?”

“Nah, this is Franky’s request, and she’s asked to keep it between me, you and Ruby. No one else, aye? I made a promise to me best mate and I intend to keep it.”

Bridget agreed. “I tried it my way and, it didn’t work. Okay, Boomer, I’m ready to-“

“Punch some tits in!” Boomer held both arms up in victory. “Yes!”

“Keep it down, or Kaz will hear you!” Ruby said, laughing at Boomer. “Bridget, that’s the smartest decision you’ve made since you arrived. Right, Booms?”

“Fuckin’ oath! But it’ll cost ya. One... nah, two... fuck it... _three_ packets of Monte Carlos.”

“Boomer, three packets is a little excessive,” Ruby scolded her.

“That’s okay, Ruby,” Bridget replied. “ _Four_ packets is a fair price.”

“Hey, I like this chick!” Boomer snorted. “By the time we’ve finished, even Franky will be scared of ya!”


	5. Talking to Ghosts

Boomer ducked into Bridget’s cell straight after breakfast. “Are you ready for your first session? Cause Kaz said I have to walk with you to the exercise yard.”

“Ready as I’ll ever be, but before we go, I have something for you.” Bridget retrieved four packets of Monte Carlos from under her pillow. “As we agreed.”

“Aww, beaut!” Boomer went to accept them, but stopped herself. “I... um... can’t accept these cause I was wrong... you know... about grabbing you by the collar and all.”

“That’s because you were upset over Ferguson.”

“Nah. Besides, Ruby’s right, I tried to rip you off. Mates don’t do that to one another, aye?”

“No, they don’t, but it’s a pity, because I don’t like Monte Carlos and I had to do a lot of trading with the girls in the kitchen to obtain these. Do you think they’ll take them back?”

“Yeah, nah… trades are for keeps.”

“I don’t suppose anyone else would like them?”

“Everyone hates them - except me.” Boomer walked to the doorway and looked back at the biscuits lovingly, licking her lips. Bridget held the packets out, and Boomer relented, snatching them from her hands. “Well, if you insist, but only because I’d hate to see ‘em go to waste.” Boomer held a smile from ear to ear. “Guess what I’m doin’ tonight? Two fingers, a picture of Fev, and a packet of Montys afterwards!”

**** **** ****

The early morning sunshine brought most of the inmates out into the exercise yard, some taking advantage of the fresh air or a game of basketball, while others milled about doing the usual deals of money in exchange for contraband to help pass the time at night behind closed doors.

Boomer held the heavy canvas bag in place as Ruby laced up the gloves on Bridget before donning her own pair. “There are four different basic punches in boxing: the jab, cross, hook, and uppercut.” Ruby said as she demonstrated each style effectively into the bag. “Charge them up by using them in different combinations and strike out like you mean it! Make each one count and keep your guard up so the opposition can’t get one in. Okay, let’s see you in action.”

Bridget spent several minutes getting the feel of punching the solid bag, grateful that Boomer was keeping it secured in place. With Ruby shouting instructions from the sidelines, her confidence grew with each punch and soon a crowd congregated on the other side of the fence, with Juice and her boys amongst them.

Stella let out a long wolf-whistle. “Juice said to say she likes her fresh meat feisty!”

“Tell Juice to bite her tongue. Oh, wait, she can’t!” Ruby poked her tongue out at Juice, who flipped her the bird in return. “Ignore them, Bridget. Let’s show these bitches you mean business! Imagine the bag is Juice’s face - not that there’s much difference. Give it a right hook along the jawline to the side of the head.”

_Whack!_

“Not bad!” Ruby said, impressed at how quickly Bridget had taken to boxing. “But remember to keep your elbow in line behind the fist for a more powerful punch. Okay, hit it again, but this time a right jab to the nose, followed by a quick left under the ribs, then another right hook like you did before.”

_Whack! Whack! Whack!_

“Hey Boomer,” Tina Mercado called out. “Maybe you should bulk Twiggy up on Monte Carlos, that way you can have a Mini-Me following you around!”

The inmates roared with laughter, and Boomer released the bag, heading over to Tina, readying herself for a fight. At the same time Bridget took another swing at the bag, which hit Boomer in the upper back, sending her sprawling to the ground face-first. The bag then swung back towards Bridget, knocking her to the ground on her bum.

“Well done, Twiggy!” Tina applauded, as once again the surrounding inmates erupted into laughter and whistles.

Boomer, who was furious at being humiliated in front of everyone, lifted herself up and rushed over to the wire fencing which separated them. “I’m gonna knock your fuckin’ block off, slag!”

“Yeah? How you gonna do that, Bam Bam? Squeeze your fat arse between the wire?”

“I’m not fat!” Boomer gripped a small handful of Tina’s hair through the wiring and slammed the side of her face into the fence.

“Jenkins!” Officer Webb shouted from across the other side of the exercise yard. “Let her go or you’ll spend a week in the slot!”

“But she started it!”

“I won’t tell you again.”

“You heard her, Bam Bam,” Tina winced. “Let me go!”

Ruby dashed over. “Booms, don’t let her goad you. You hate the slot, remember?”

Boomer reluctantly released Tina, but not before yanking out a handful of hair.

“Fucking bitch!” Tina cried out, rubbing her scalp.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Must have got tangled in me fingers, aye?”

**** **** ****

Franky re-read the text Joan Ferguson sent a few minutes ago, trying to grasp that she was about to face her nemesis on her own. The message had stipulated no weapons, so if Ferguson killed Franky, only Bridget would know the truth and even she had no way of proving who was responsible – assuming she survived her own encounter with Juice.

_What the fuck was I thinking, agreeing to meet up with the Freak on her terms? I feel like I’m trapped in a game of chess where I’m the cornered pawn, and Ferguson is the queen, ready to make her move._

Several balls of scrunched up paper lay discarded on the kitchen bench, as Franky had tried and failed to write what could be her last words to Bridget. But no matter how she worded it, she knew it would leave Bridget broken-hearted.

_What do you say to someone you may never see again? I love you and I’m sorry I let you down? Fuck!_

She checked her watch and sighed heavily. “Checkmate.”

_Too late now. It’s time to face my nemesis._

**** **** ****

“Okay, bitches,” Boomer announced to the handful of women lingering in the shower block. “This area is off-limits until further notice.”

“It’s time for some real training,” Ruby winked at Bridget. “I’ll keep a lookout while Boomer will go over the finer details of handling a shiv.”

“Show me how you hold one of these suckers.” Boomer handed the shiv to Bridget, who then held it downwards. “Not like that, Twiggy. Anyone can just slap it out of your hand, like this.” Boomer slapped Bridget’s hand away, sending the shiv across the room. “Hold it upwards when facing your opponent. If they’re stupid enough to grab it, they’ll get a hole through the palm of their hand. Got it?”

Bridget nodded and retrieved the weapon. “If I have to use it, where should I aim for?”

“If you don’t want to kill them, then a leg or arm will do, but you’ve still got to be careful not to slice open veins or any shit like that.”

“Boomer’s right, Bridget,” Ruby said. “If you aim for the torso, you could find yourself up on more murder charges.”

“What if they’re the one holding the knife?”

“Kick ‘em in the nuts.”

“Boomer!” Ruby giggled at her. “That won’t help much in here!”

“What? It will still hurt and send ‘em flying. Long enough to escape or get your own shiv out.”

After about twenty minutes of practising a few different manoeuvres, Boomer was finally satisfied with Bridget’s progress. “That will do for now, good job. We’ll continue the same time tomorrow.”

“Okay, my turn,” Ruby announced. “Boomer, you keep a lookout.”

“Won’t I need gloves?” Bridget asked Ruby.

“In front of Kaz? Yes. But in a prison fight? No. I’m going to teach you how to fight without them, because they won’t be much use to you unless you’re planning on never taking them off. Now, show me how you ball your fists.”

Bridget held her fists up, with her thumbs tucked under her fingers. “Like this?”

“Shit, girl, you do that, and you’ll break both thumbs. Always place them on the outside of your fists and use those combinations I taught you earlier.”

Ruby put Bridget through the paces, adding dodging techniques, footwork and emphasising the importance of keeping her guard up at all times. With each punch, Bridget packed more strength, and even got in the occasional kick.

“Remember, keep your guard up, don’t stay in the same spot for too long, and never allow yourself to be cornered,” Ruby instructed as she blocked one of Bridget’s right hooks. “That’s it! Throw that punch like it will save your life!”

Bridget struck out with a right cross, but Ruby blocked the blow with her left hand. “Yeah! That’s deadly! Now that’s what I’m talking about!”

“You blocked it though.”

“True, but I’m a boxer, whereas those fat cows would be too slow and stupid to use that technique. And another thing, stare them down and don’t let them intimidate you, no matter how shit-scared you are.”

“I’ve tried that previously, and it didn’t work.”

“Then act like a nutter and shout a few choice words at them, cause they may back off if they think you’re bat-shit crazy.”

Bridget aimed a left hook to Ruby’s head, but was too slow. Ruby ducked with ease and returned the favour with a light blow into her stomach region.

“What did I say about keeping your guard up? If that was a real punch, you’d be on the floor by now and those bitches would be kicking the shit out of you.”

Bridget was puffing heavily from the solid half hour workout. “I need a quick break.”

“No way. Juice won’t let you call time out when you’re fighting to stay alive, so I’m not going to, either.” Ruby stepped forward and lightly tapped Bridget’s jaw with a right hook. “And now you’ve got a dislocated jaw. Jesus, Bridget, you’ve given up trying!”

“What’s the point? Juice always has her boys as backup. How can I possibly compete with that?”

“I’m not teaching you to flog them all at once. Just showing you how to put them off their stride long enough so you can get your arse out alive.” Ruby sighed. “Look, you love Franky, yeah?”

“More than anything.”

“Imagine I’m Ferguson and Franky’s lying on the ground before me in a pool of her own blood. I’m about to finish her with one final blow, and you’re the only one who can save her. What would you do?”

“Fuck this shit!” Boomer mumbled from her watch point in the doorway. “Oi, Twiggy!” She shouted as she charged at Bridget like a deranged psychopath with the shiv raised, ready to stab her. With a split second to react, Bridget balled her fist and struck out with a right uppercut to Boomer’s stomach, sending her to her knees, doubled over in pain.

“Oh my God, Boomer! Are you okay?” Bridget said as she and Ruby helped her to her feet. “I’m so sorry.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Boomer coughed and spluttered. “Me gut!”

Ruby checked for any damage to the ribcage. “Nothing broken. You’ll be right, you big sook.”

“Fuck off!” Boomer growled, a scowl appearing across her face.

“Are you sure she’ll be okay?” Bridget asked Ruby with concern. “Maybe we should take her to Medical?”

“I’m not goin’ to Medical!”

“Yeah, she’s all good - just a bruised ego. Nothing that a good hearty meal won’t fix, right, Booms?” Ruby chuckled. “Not bad, Bridge. We’ll make a fighter out of you, yet.”

“It better be hot dogs,” Boomer moaned as she gingerly followed Ruby and Bridget out into the corridor towards the dining room.

**** **** ****

Even though Boomer got her wish, she still slammed the food tray down on the table. Ruby smirked but suppressed a laugh as she watched Boomer purposely sit down slowly to avoid any unnecessary pain, her straining grunts capturing Kaz’s attention.

“Is something wrong, Boomer?”

“Yeah, there’s something wrong. Everyone’s talkin’ about how Twiggy brought me down like a sack of shit in the yard this morning. You didn’t say anythin’ about the incident in the shower block, Rue?”

“What incident?” Kaz asked her.

“Umm, nothin’. I lost me toothbrush and Ruby found it.”

Tina casually strode past the table carrying her dinner tray, singing the tune to _Humpty Dumpty._

_“If you’re fat, don’t sit on the wall,_

_If you do, you’ll have a great fall.”_

“Fuck me!” Boomer stood up quickly, grimacing at the sudden pain to her stomach region. “Okay, everyone, I have an announcement. Twiggy here... she caught me off guard. Got it?”

“Yeah, sure, Bam Bam,” Tina called out. Just like that time in fight club?”

“I think you need another haircut, you scrawny-arsed slag.”

“Boomer, that’s enough.” Kaz waited until Boomer reluctantly sat down again. “Look upon it as doing Bridget a favour. Now people will think twice before hurting her. What you did, was noble.”

“You’re my hero, Boomer,” Bridget pushed her plate with a hot dog and vegetables towards her. “A small appreciation for helping me out.”

Boomer grumbled, but accepted the offering and stabbed the hot dog and potatoes with her fork, ignoring the rest of the vegetables. “I knew I should’ve made it five packets of Monte Carlos.”

**** **** ****

Franky approached the dimly lit laneway with caution. From a distance she could hear Joan Ferguson’s raised voice, like she was arguing with someone, and opted to duck into a small alcove, hoping the cover of darkness would be enough to conceal her. She listened in, hoping Joan would reveal important information, which may help prove Bridget’s innocence.

“You’re never happy, are you? What more do you wish for me to do?”

_“If you did things right to begin with, Joan, then you wouldn’t be in this predicament. What have I said to you about emotions clouding your judgement?”_

_“_ Emotions are a weakness which will only hamper you. Emotions lead to mistakes.”

_“Yet you continue to ignore me.”_

“What would you have done, dearest Dad?”

_“I wouldn’t have let those animals get inside my head. You were careless and lost control.”_

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you, Ivan.”

_“You are my daughter. I moulded you from my personal experiences and therefore expect perfection. Anything less, is not acceptable, because it means you were not paying attention.”_

“Shut up!” Joan shouted, her voice reverberating off the brick walls in the narrow laneway. “You’re not even offering me a solution! Just leave me alone!”

Franky had heard enough _._ She stepped out from the alcove and picked up a metal bin lid from the ground, and slung it like a frisbee at Joan, hitting her squarely in the small of her back.

“Talking to ghosts, Freak? It must suck to be you.”

Joan slowly turned around, her facial expression switching from anger to calm at seeing Franky. “Hello, Franky, you’re late. I was beginning to think you were a no show.”

“Like I had a choice. Getting really fucking tired of your refusal to wither away and die, Freak.”

Joan took her time retrieving the black leather gloves from her coat pocket, slipping them on each finger with purpose. “My name is Miss Ferguson, but you can call me Governor.”

Franky chuckled at the reference to their first exchange of words in the prison laundry several years ago. “Nah, Bea renamed you, remember? That was the day she became top dog and claimed the prison from you.”

“And I reclaimed it back when I killed her, just like I’m going to do with you if you don’t give me what I need.”

“And what would that be? A wooden stake through the heart?”

“Ha,” Joan forced out both letters of the one-syllable word. “Your witless one liners will no doubt contribute to your eventual demise, Doyle. No, what I need to know, is who did it? Who tried to kill me?”

“What the fuck are you on about?” It was then Franky remembered Allie’s letter, and suddenly, everything made perfect sense.

_You need to prove your innocence; I need to do something else. I loved Bea, and Joan Ferguson took her away from me, so I want revenge in Bea Smith’s name. I made a deal to share my escape plan. We’re getting rid of Ferguson for good._

“You mentioned being dead and buried in our last phone conversation. Shit! You didn’t escape, did you? Someone ensured that box, which was supposed to give you freedom, became your coffin.” Franky laughed out loud. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Congratulations, you figured it out all by yourself. But that person was also guilty for burying me alive.”

“I wish they had killed you first.”

“Lucky for me it was a shallow grave, and the thin wood cracked under the weight of the soil, otherwise your wish would have been granted.” Joan held up the sketch of Bea which had been taped to the inside of her coffin. “This belongs to Novak, so that same person has access to her personal possessions.” She slowly ripped the picture into quarters and dropped the pieces on the ground. “Don’t make me ask the same question twice.”

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“Yes, yes... we all know you were too distracted trying to clear your precious name. Moving on, you can start with... Vera Bennett. If she’s not responsible, then she will know who is.”

“Don’t you think she’s been through enough with Jake’s death?”

“That was rather tragic. Never leave your drink unattended in a bar in case it gets spiked and always get the airbags in your car serviced regularly.”

“You killed him? Why? You obviously didn’t believe he had a hand in your death or we wouldn’t be here having this conversation.”

“He was involved in my escape, but was too gutless to bury me alive. Jake had an accomplice and I want confirmation of their name.”

“Maybe you should have asked Jake that question before you killed him.”

“It’s far more effective this way. Leave no trail. Understand?”

“So you want me to do your dirty work because you don’t want to alert the police to the fact that you’re hovering under their noses, while seeking revenge? What if I say go fuck yourself?”

“Tsk, tsk. Such inspiring dialogue. What if I say your girlfriend will die if you don’t do as I ask?” She pulled out her mobile and held it up for Franky to see. “One phone call is all it takes, Doyle.”

“Fuck you!” Franky shouted as she charged at her like a bull, head butting her in the stomach and throwing both arms around Joan’s midriff to off-balance her.

Joan dropped the mobile, but barely flinched from the front-on attack, smashing her elbow down hard between Franky’s shoulder blades, sending her crashing to the ground.

“Uncontrolled anger allows for foolish ideas with a sloppy execution, Doyle.” She picked Franky up by the hood of her jacket, not expecting the fist which came out of nowhere and collided with her nose.

_Crack!_

“So is letting your guard down, Freak. Consider that a little thank you gesture for setting me up for Iman Farah’s murder.”

Joan stumbled backwards, and Franky took the opportunity to kick out at her, but Joan dodged the potential blow and retaliated with a successful kick of her own to the chest. Before Franky picked herself up, she was kicked several times to ensure she would stay down until Joan was ready to continue. Joan took a moment to compose herself, noting her nose was dislocated, and not broken. Franky watched on in horror as she witnessed Joan push her own nose back into place, then tidied the stray wisps of her greying hair back behind her ears.

“Are you even fucking human?” Franky questioned out loud.

Joan lifted Franky to her feet, holding her up against the brick wall with both hands wrapped around her throat. She scrutinised Franky’s facial features closely, ignoring the pain of Franky’s fingernails, which dug deep into her wrists.

“You really have the most striking eyes, Doyle.” She leaned in close, deeply inhaling Franky’s scent, and released a small moan. “I literally have your life in my hands,” she whispered in her ear. “Do you know what it’s like to kill someone... _intentionally?_ ”

Franky struggled for each breath. “Why... don’t we... swap places... so I can... find out?”

“Another witless comeback.” With one swift movement, Joan threw Franky into the nearby rubbish cans, sending them sprawling in different directions.

Franky slowly rose to her knees, determined to remain defiant. “Is that the best you can do, you old bat? Ivan would not approve, would he?”

 _“_ Don’t you dare speak his name!”

“Why not? Were you not a disappointment to him? Could’ve sworn I heard you defending yourself to his ghost.”

Joan felt the rage rise within her and rushed at Franky, dragging her off the ground and slamming her against a large dumpster. Her balled fist continuously punched Franky’s already battered body until she could no longer stand up without support. The sudden heavy weight which fell against Joan seemed to bring her to her senses, and she pulled Franky’s head back by the hair, noticing the swelling which now appeared around Franky’s eyes.

“What do you think, Franky? Should I let you live? More importantly, would anybody miss you?”

Franky smiled weakly, baring her blood-stained teeth. “Yes, because I have people who love me. What about you? Would anyone miss you?”

The question stung Joan, and the fleeting grimace on her face gave away her inner emotions as she realised Franky was correct in her assumption.

“Yeah, I thought not.” Franky laughed, the resulting coughing fit sent droplets of blood spraying across Joan’s face.

Repulsed by the contamination against her skin, Joan dropped Franky and retrieved a handkerchief from her coat pocket to wipe away the blood. She looked down at the broken heap sprawled on the ground, and placed the sole of her boot upon the side of Franky’s head, pushing her face into the uneven bluestone surface of the laneway, like she was posing with her prized trophy after a successful hunt.

“What are you waiting for?” Franky shouted. “A handwritten invitation? Kill me, you fucking freak!”

A police siren wailed nearby, reminding Joan that she had been careless in exposing herself to the outside world for this length of time. “You’re pathetic, Doyle, but I admire your will to survive, despite the odds stacked against you. I’ll let you survive this encounter because it will give me great satisfaction to hunt you down, once more. Only the next time we meet, if you don’t have the information I require, both you and Westfall will die.”

“Not if I kill you first.”

“You have neither the skills, the strength, nor the intelligence to outsmart and kill me,” Joan stepped over Franky’s body and scooped up the mobile she had dropped earlier, then vanished into the darkness of the laneway.

**** **** ****

Franky lay on the ground, curled up in the foetal position as the rain beat down upon her battered body. She had no idea how long she had been there. Perhaps a few minutes? Or was it several hours? All she knew was she ached all over and right now, the only thing which would stop the pain, would be death. She heard running footsteps splashing through puddles and assumed it was the police because of the earlier siren. Or maybe it was Ferguson, and she had changed her mind? Just in case, Franky braced herself for the inevitable end of her life.

“I’m not going to hurt you, but you need to stay awake, okay?”

Franky felt the cool fingertips as they carefully peeled back one of her swollen eyelids. “Hey, Gidge,” she said, finding her voice, albeit in a hoarse whisper. “I knew you’d rescue me.”

“Try to conserve your energy.”

A tear slid down Franky’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Gidge. I tried. I really tried. But she was just too powerful.”

Moments later, Franky passed out.

**** **** ****

Franky woke in fright. At first the complete darkness disorientated her, until she realised there was a bandage wrapped around her head, covering her eyes. Even though her hands weren’t bound, it didn’t stop her from assuming the worst and that she was now being held against her will. She shouted out, hoping someone other than Joan Ferguson would hear her cries for help.

“It’s okay,” the woman’s calming voice assured her. “I’ve covered your eyes because they needed time to heal.”

Franky looked in the direction from where the woman’s voice came from, relieved it wasn’t Ferguson. “Who are you? Where am I?”

“A place where you’ll be safe.”

“How long have I been here?”

“You’ve suffered a concussion and have been drifting in and out of consciousness for the last four days.”

“Four days?” Franky asked with disbelief. She sat upright in bed, wincing at the sharp pain in her ribs, and clasped a hand over the left side of her rib cage. “Jesus, fuck that hurts!”

“Be careful, those bruised ribs are going to be sore for a few more days”

“Feels like they’re broken.”

“They’re not. You’re very lucky.”

Franky pulled her shirt up high enough and gingerly felt the swelling around her torso. “Are you sure about that?”

“Considering you should be dead, I’d say you are.”

Franky contemplated what the woman had just told her. “You still haven’t told me your name.”

“I’m not sure you’re ready for that answer, just yet.”

“I wasn’t ready for the pounding l copped in the laneway, either. You could have contacted the emergency services to pick me up, instead you saved my life and nursed me back to health. It’s like our paths were destined to cross.”

“I don’t believe in destiny.” The woman seated herself on the bed next to Franky. “I need to remove the bandage to examine your eyesight. Close your eyes and open them gradually, as the light will make them sting.”

Franky sat patiently, inhaling the familiar oriental scent; the touch of the woman’s soft hands reminding Franky how much she missed Bridget, as the stranger gently unravelled the bandage from around her head.

“My girlfriend wears the same perfume as you.”

“That would be Gidge?”

“How did you know her name?” Franky asked with concern.

“You were delirious when l first found you, and you called me Gidge.”

Franky gave an uneasy laugh. “Yeah, no doubt the perfume. I hope l didn’t say anything embarrassing?”

“Nothing to be ashamed of.”

Franky seemed satisfied with the woman’s reply and remained silent until the bandage had been removed. She waited a few seconds and slowly opened her eyes, the dull light still too strong for her weakened irises.

“I can only see shadows!” Franky said, in a panic.

“Give it a couple of minutes to let your eyes adjust to the surroundings.”

Franky blinked hard several times until she saw a distorted outline of the woman, who continued to sit beside her.

“Better, but still very blurry.”

The woman held up her hand only centimetres from Franky’s face. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Franky concentrated on the hazy image of the hand, blinking continuously until her eyes focused, and smiled. “Four. Guess this means I don’t need a guide dog, huh?”

The woman dropped her hand, and Franky gasped at seeing her face for the first time.

“What the fuck?” Despite the sudden jolt of pain, Franky jumped up from the bed and backed herself up against the wall; her eyes now widened with shock and looking like she had just seen a ghost. “That’s impossible!”

“Hello, my old friend. It’s been a long time.”

Franky swallowed hard before replying, “Bea?!!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't you just hate cliffhangers? Now a question to those of you playing along at home. How do you think Bea survived, and where has she been all this time? I'll start - it has nothing to do with the witness protection program.
> 
> Tune in next week for the next exciting chapter called 'Rogue'.
> 
> As always,  
> Expect the Unexpected.
> 
> The_Fifth_Marauder


	6. Rogue

Firebird sat with her legs dangling over the rooftop ledge of the Tokyo Metropolitan Government Building. At forty-eight stories high, it wasn’t the tallest building in Japan, but at night the bright lights of Tokyo afforded her a magnificent and uninterrupted view of the city’s expansive skyline. She had heard that on a clear summer’s day, Mount Fuji could be seen in the distance, but that was a luxury afforded to normal, everyday people, and not to someone like her who didn’t officially exist and required the cover of darkness to conceal her illegal activities.

 _Because Bea Smith is dead_.

When she was alive, she was a prisoner, another failure segregated from society and doomed to waste the rest of her life locked behind bars. With her family dead, her only friends were prisoners in Wentworth Correctional Centre who relayed the tale of her heroic final battle, and mourned of her brutal passing at the hands of Joan Ferguson.

_To willingly surrender herself to Death, so that others could live._

Which was why she was the perfect candidate for the Australian Security Intelligence Organisation - known as ASIO - equivalent to America’s CIA and Britain’s Secret Service.

 _A woman now with no past, no future, and nothing to lose_.

As paramedics battled to save her life that fateful day, the ambulance never made it to Royal Melbourne Hospital, instead detouring to a secret location where a team of the best surgeons in the country were given one order: Do not let Bea Smith die. Several hours later, and having been revived twice on the operating table, a miracle happened.

_She survived._

After months of rehabilitation, she was given a new identity, codenamed ‘Firebird’, and sent overseas to train with the best spy agencies, where she specialised in espionage. With a 100% clean-kill rate which left no trace back to herself or her employer, she soon gathered a fearful and respected reputation whose services were always in high demand.

_She became the perfect assassin._

It was a lonely life, living off the grid and existing only to appease those higher up by eliminating troublemakers - to clean house and put out the trash, so to speak. No lovers, not even a one night stand. For forming a relationship meant vulnerability - a weakness which could easily be exploited. An assassin was a lifetime commitment, where retirement only occurred because you screwed up and were killed doing your job.

But the game had recently changed. The Underground Network was like a beehive, and news soon reached her that Joan Ferguson had escaped from Wentworth. Firebird gathered up her meagre possessions - a burner mobile, fake passport, money, sketch pad and 2B pencil, and stuffed them into her backpack. She then stashed her weapons of choice: a SIG Sauer P226 pistol and a Fairbairn-Sykes double-edged fighting knife, in the usual hiding hole behind the vent of an air conditioning shaft, to be claimed upon her return - should she survive.

It was time for Firebird to revisit her old life as Bea Smith one last time, and even though the consequences meant the hunter was about to become the hunted, nothing was going to stop her from completing this final mission before being eradicated by her own comrades for betraying the assassin’s code.

_For she was no longer the perfect assassin, but a rogue._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the short length of 'Rogue', but I felt it needed its own chapter due to its different style. More shall be revealed in 'The Return of Bea Smith' later this week, as no doubt Franky has plenty of questions to ask - and you know how persistent she can be!


	7. The Return of Bea Smith

Bea mentally braced herself for the inevitable deluge of questions, but Franky was not forthcoming. “Is there anything you want to ask me?”

Franky shrugged her shoulders. “I dunno. You look the same, but your voice… it sounds different, like…”

“It’s lower?”

“Yeah, something like that. Did they do something to you?”

“No, that was caused by my injuries.”

“Fair enough, but I could have sworn I detected a slight accent before you revealed yourself.”

“Spanish. I rarely use the Australian accent because in my line of work it’s not wise to draw attention to my origins.”

“Does that mean you can speak other languages?”

“ _Si_. I’m fluent in seven different languages and I use their accents for when I need to communicate in English.”

“Right… you certainly had me fooled.” Franky sat in silence, not knowing what to say next.

“Seriously?” Bea asked her. “That’s the best you can do?”

“Fuck, Red, it’s not every day you have a mate return from the dead as some kind of reincarnated superhero, out to rid the world of its evil villains.”

“You forgot the part where l turned rogue.”

“And everyone wants you dead?”

“Most. I’ve effectively signed my own death warrant by coming back.”

“Just to kill Ferguson. You’re starting to make a habit of it.”

“But this time I’ll do the job right. The only thing which prevented a rematch, was Wentworth and Ferguson’s made herself accessible by escaping her sanctuary.”

“And when you’re determined, nothing will get in your way - like Jacs Holt and her son, Brayden, right?”

“Those fuckers got what they deserved, and I make no apologies for that. When someone takes the person I love, they die.”

“No offence, but the last time that happened, you came off second best. I know you’re now a trained assassin and all, but this is Ferguson we’re talking about.”

“That’s because I thought Allie was dying and it was the only way to be reunited with her and my daughter.”

“Are you saying you let Ferguson stab you?”

“She wrestled the screwdriver away from me and I purposely impaled myself upon it. I knew once I started, Ferguson would lose control and finish the job.”

“You suspected you were going to die, didn’t you? Before you went in to battle?”

“It was kill or be killed, and if it was me, then so be it.” Bea sighed heavily. “I was tired, Franky. All I wanted was to see my daughter and to be with Allie again, because I had nothing left to live for.”

“But it backfired on you because Allie lived. She really loved you and it ripped me to pieces to break the news to her of your death. Do you have any idea what it’s like to watch one of your best mates be buried? I mean... how the fuck did you even manage that?”

“That was out of my control as ASIO organised a closed casket, to be cremated afterwards. As for Allie, I heard several months later that she had survived and I’m sorry you both had to go through such grief.”

“So you fucking should be! Maxine, Booms, Liz, Doreen... even Vera. They were all pretty fucking devastated when you died! You could have at least notified us you survived!”

“No, I couldn’t! Not without endangering your lives. Anyway, it was for the greater good because Ferguson was brought down and her credibility shot to zero.”

“Yeah, but what good did it actually do? You put her behind bars with the same people who were your friends and family, and now she’s out there, somewhere, totally out of control and with a big fucking chip on her shoulder.”

“I don’t need to justify my actions to you or anyone else.”

“Except to Allie, or have you forgotten about her?”

Bea clenched her teeth. “Drop it, Franky. You are not to let on to anyone, including Allie, that I’m still alive.”

“Not even Bridget?” Franky replied sarcastically. “Cause, you know, Gidge hates it when I keep secrets from her.”

Bea quickly reached out and clasped her right hand tightly around Franky’s throat. “No one. Understand?”

Franky was tempted to retaliate with another smart remark, but the look in Bea’s eyes revealed an anger that showed she was more than capable of killing - whether or not it was warranted. It was the same expression she had witnessed from Ferguson in the laneway, and she knew then that the new and improved Bea who sat beside her on the bed, was Joan Ferguson’s equal.

 _Smart. Cunning. Unforgiving. Dangerous_.

“Loud and clear, Red,” Franky struggled with the pressure around her throat. Bea nodded and released her grip. “Besides, no one would believe me, anyway.”

“Are you done giving me the third degree?”

Franky rubbed her throat. “For the time being, but only because I don’t want you breaking my neck.”

“Given you’re an old friend, I promise it would be quick and clean and you won’t remember a thing afterwards.”

At first Franky didn’t know how to react until Bea laughed out loud. “Fuck, Red, remind me never to challenge you to a rematch for top dog.”

“You would lose again, only it would also cost you your life, too.”

Suddenly, Franky felt appreciative that Bea was on her side. “Ease up, I was only joking. So, what shall l call you? Bea? Red? Firebird?”

Bea chuckled. “Bea would be nice. It’s been a long time since anyone has addressed me by my proper name, but when we’re out and about, use Red.”

“Done. Next question. How did you know where to find me?”

“You’ve had a lot of media coverage of late, so it was easy to pick up your trail. When the police cleared and released you over charges relating to Pennisi’s murder, I suspected Ferguson would seek you out, given you escaped with her.”

“Then you witnessed the whole confrontation in the laneway?”

“Yes, but l couldn’t afford to reveal myself - not yet, anyway. That siren you heard? I rigged it up through a small portable speaker connected to my mobile phone.” Bea handed Franky the speaker. “This belongs to you.”

“You broke into my house?” Franky asked in disbelief.

“Time was against me and I urgently needed supplies. I borrowed your laptop and a few other essentials, too.”

“Gidge’s perfume is hardly essential.”

“No, but I saw the bottle on the dresser and couldn’t resist a quick spray. I can’t remember the last time I smelled something so pretty, and for a few moments, it made me feel… _feminine_. Sometimes I just need a reminder, you know? But generally, it’s not wise to wear any when you’re sneaking up on an acquired target because it ruins the element of surprise.”

Franky looked down at the speaker, realising it helped save her life. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but maybe you should have intervened a lot sooner.”

“If I had, we wouldn’t have the information that we now possess. That said, you wouldn’t have copped half the beating had you not aggravated her. You need to learn that Ferguson is dangerous, and the sooner you understand this, you’ll increase your chances of survival.”

“What if the police catch up with her first?”

“She’s too smart for them.”

“But not for you. You’ll be able to beat her this time in.”

“Never underestimate her will to survive. That’s the mistake l made the first time around, and I’ve no intention of history repeating itself.”

“Yet you still need my help, right?”

“Just as much as you need mine. Together, we can bring this bitch down.”

“What’s the grand plan?”

“First, tell me everything about the escape, and don’t leave out anything.”

Bea listened attentively as Franky recalled the story in intricate detail. “Wait, are you telling me Allie was supposed to escape with you? _My_ Allie?”

“Yeah, _your_ Allie. Jake Stewart discovered the escape plan and replaced her with Ferguson at the last minute. Even I didn’t know until afterwards when I found the letter in my pocket which Allie had written.”

“It makes sense. Jake was Ferguson’s shitkicker, and I reckon he was responsible for Nils Jesper’s murder. I did a bit of digging on Jake and he amassed enormous debts which Ferguson worked to her advantage. He would have jumped at the opportunity to be rid of her. Pity the job was botched, and she killed him before we could ask him any questions.”

“Ferguson mentioned in the laneway that there is more than one person responsible.” Franky replied. “But l have no idea who that could be.”

“Yeah, I heard. She suspects Vera, so once you’re better, we’ll pay her a visit.”

“I’m better now. Let’s go.”

Bea poked Franky in the ribs and got the reaction she expected. “Sure, you’re much better.”

“Okay, I get the hint, but there’s something you should know… Vera’s pregnant.”

“Great. More ammunition for Ferguson to use against us.”

“What do we do now?”

“I need you at full strength because you’re no good to me like this. We’ll lie low a few more days to give you a chance to heal, and for me to work out a plan now that I know more details.”

“You’re telling me you are not prepared?”

“A week ago I had just completed a successful hit on a corrupt politician holidaying in Tokyo, and now I’m back in Melbourne to hunt down Ferguson and play nurse to you. What do you think?”

“I’m thinking you’re the one in need of a holiday.”

“I’d be happy to sit in a cafe and watch the world go by, without fear of having my head blown off.”

“With your woman by your side, right?” Franky spotted Bea’s tattoo on her inner left wrist. “Nice tatt. What’s it mean?”

“Two seahorses with their tails entwined so they won’t lose one another. That’s me and Allie.” Bea smiled to herself as she tenderly outlined the tattoo with her index finger. “Speaking of which, how is she?”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask. Allie’s... good.”

“You’re holding out on me. What’s her name?”

“What are you? A fucking mind reader? Her name’s Ruby. Nice kid, but has a bit of a short fuse.”

“Do I need to teach this Ruby a lesson?” Bea asked with concern.

“Allie’s doing just fine, so you can put your dick away. Not convinced they’re suited, though. She seems so out of place since you... _died_.”

“I don’t blame her. Life goes on and it can get very lonely without someone to love.”

“Listen, Allie believed you were dead. At first, she was hell-bent on revenge. Took a swipe at Ferguson with a cue ball in a sock, and another time she tried to hot shot her. I talked her into escaping with me in case Ferguson decided to kill her.”

“Stupid! What the fuck was she thinking?”

“To avenge your death. She taped your last remaining sketch to the inside of the box Ferguson was buried in. Sacrificed the only thing she treasured just so it would have been the last image the Freak saw before dying.”

“You mean this?” Bea held up the damaged picture, which she’d taped back together. Franky nodded. “Only she didn’t die, did she? And Allie’s still stuck behind bars.”

“Nup. You’re not thinking of doing anything stupid like going to visit her?”

“Sure, I’ll stroll casually in to Wentworth and ask to see Allie. Hopefully, no one should recognise me given I’m dead.”

“I thought with assassins, they could... you know, be able to disguise themselves.” Franky threw her a cheeky smile and Bea couldn’t help but laugh.

“Some of shit that comes out of your mouth astounds me, Franky.”

“Hey, just trying to grasp the fact you’re alive and sitting beside me.”

“Sorry, next time I’ll call first.” Bea rose from the bed and walked to the bedroom door. “Anyway, that’s enough for today, get some rest and we’ll continue this conversation tomorrow.”

“There is one more thing before you leave.”

“Oh, yeah? What is it now? Is the bed too hard for you, Goldilocks?”

“Actually, it’s too soft.” Franky lifted herself off the bed and slowly limped over to embrace Bea in a friendly hug. “Fuck, it’s good to have you back, Bea. I really missed you.”

**** **** ****

Franky spent the following day sleeping in, finally rising later that night with the suspicion that Bea had popped a sleeping pill in her dinner the previous night. She entered the small kitchenette, cautiously holding her hand against the side of her ribcage, and sat down at the small, square wooden table which was only big enough for two people.

“What is this place? It looks like it’s been abandoned for years.”

“It used to belong to Maxine Conway.”

“Oh. I heard she didn’t survive her treatment?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Bea approached the table with two cups and handed her a coffee, before sitting down opposite.

“Can I assume this coffee isn’t laced with sleeping pills?”

“You needed more rest. How are you feeling today?”

“Still shit.”

“Well, that’s a vast improvement upon yesterday.”

Franky whistled in admiration as she scooped up some discarded pencilled drawings from the table. “Allie said you were a gifted artist, Red. These are bloody awesome!”

Bea snatched them from her hands and headed over to the kitchen sink. “They’re crap.”

“No, they’re not.” Franky watched as Bea struck a match and set fire to a sketch of Debbie. “What are you doing? Seriously, they aren’t shit.”

“These are a part of my past, a weakness which could easily be exploited.”

“Aren’t you being a tad paranoid?”

“It’s not worth the risk. My old life would be exposed if these fell into the wrong hands. And even though Debbie’s dead and therefore can’t be harmed, Allie’s an entirely different story.”

“I don’t understand. Are you saying every picture you draw, ends up being destroyed?”

“Bingo.”

“Then why bother?”

“I draw to escape the nightmares trapped inside my head; by imagining every fine detail and then letting the pencil bring each picture to life.” Bea held up another picture over the sink to be burnt. “Those nightmares are temporarily replaced by Allie’s cute little mole above her full lips, her high cheekbones, and the tenderness in her eyes when we spent that one night together. It’s the one thing of my past which I refuse to surrender – my memories of the two people whom I love dearly.”

Bea held the match to the corner of the picture she rescued from the laneway, mesmerised by the flame as it ignited the paper and gradually ate away at the drawing, reducing it to a small pile of smouldering ash. She then washed the remains down the sink, satisfied all evidence had been eliminated.

“I have another follow-up question from yesterday.”

“You want to know how ASIO knew about me.”

“Okay, now you’re starting to creep me out with all this mind-reading shit.”

“Do you remember when I was to testify against Nils Jesper?”

“Yeah, you and Matthew Fletcher were supposed to spill the beans that he was Ferguson’s henchman, right?”

“Correct. I cut a deal with the case lawyer, Gareth Corbett, in exchange for Ferguson going back into protection, along with a phone recording of her ratting on Kaz Proctor and the Red Right Hand. Reckon I must have impressed Corbett with my resourcefulness, that he brought my prison file to the attention of a contact within ASIO. They obviously liked what they saw, and _voila!_ ” Bea held both arms out wide. “Here I am, still kicking.”

“It must have been tough waking up to find your old life stolen from you and given a whole new identity.”

Bea shrugged. “You adapt or you die. Simple.”

“Seems a little harsh. What’s it like? I mean…” Franky struggled for words.

“To die?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Bea leaned against the sink and pondered before answering. “At first I was scared, because I knew I was going to die and I remember hearing Vera and Will’s panicking voices whose words were indecipherable to my ears.” Bea looked out the small window, staring at the cloudy night sky for several seconds. Franky followed her line of vision, realising Bea was revisiting that old memory. “But all I could focus upon, were the two clouds in the sky shaped like seahorses… like they were put there purposely to distract me.”

“Seahorses? Like the tattoo?”

“Exactly. I remember a glaring bright light, but it wasn’t blinding. In fact, it brought me a sense of peace and calm as it drew nearer to me, like it was reaching out to help soothe my fears and to reassure me that nobody could hurt me anymore. It was as if my final lesson I needed to learn about Life is that death is not to be feared - but embraced - and I knew then I was ready to go, willingly. I was finally going to be reunited with my darling Debbie.”

“But the story didn’t end there, huh?”

“No, the real nightmare was just beginning. I woke up in bed, convinced my surroundings were a waiting room to enter the afterlife, until I noticed a man in a white uniform standing beside me.”

“A doctor?”

“I’m not sure, but I assume so. He told me I had just awoken from a three-month coma and was going to live. As soon as I could walk again, they sent me overseas and you know the rest of the story.”

“Fuck! Is that why you’re the perfect assassin? Because you’re not afraid to die?”

“Maybe. All I know, is living scares me more than dying and there’s nothing left for me now – except to kill Ferguson.”

“Once she’s dead, what then? Can you explain your situation to ASIO?”

“I don’t work for them. Their responsibility ended after they patched me up and sent me overseas, so if I died tomorrow, the ones that know, would deny my existence.”

“Who do you work for?”

“I don’t know. They send the orders and I carry them out without question.”

“Talk about blind faith.”

“What choice do I have?”

“Fuck that! Tell them you don’t want to play anymore and walk away.”

“Did you not listen to what I said earlier? It’s a lifetime commitment.”

“Oh, yeah… I forgot. What are you going to do?”

“Complete the hit on Ferguson, then wait until he comes to collect me,” Bea said nonchalantly, enjoying the caffeine hit. “These coffee pods aren’t bad. By the way, I knocked off your coffee machine, too.”

It was then Franky realised Bea would never be free. “You mean another assassin?”

Bea nodded. “It will be my old mentor who goes by the name of Stalker. If anyone can find me, it’s him.”

“Then kill him.”

“Others will follow.”

“What about Allie? Surely she’s an incentive for you to disappear until she’s released?”

“No, there’s no future for us. There never was, but at least she’ll be safe with Ruby.” Bea had buried herself so deep in her past that she jumped at the mobile phone which vibrated in her pocket.

Franky recognised the tune. “Hey, that’s my phone! What are you doing with it?”

Bea noticed the unknown number on the screen before handing the phone over to Franky. “It has to be Ferguson. She’s called several times over the last few days without leaving a message, but I’ll bet she wants a follow-up meeting. I need you to buy as much time as possible, and whatever you do, don’t aggravate her. Now answer it and put it on speaker.”

Franky accepted the call. “Yeah?”

 _“Hello, Franky, it’s about time you picked up. I was most concerned you hadn’t survived our last encounter.”_

“No such luck, Freak. What do you want?”

_“The same as last time. I want my killer’s name.”_

“Are you fucking serious? After the hatchet job you did on me, I can hardly walk!”  
  
 _“Tsk, tsk. Stop with the excuses, Doyle.”_  
  
“Our last meeting left me unconscious for several days and bruised ribs! Need proof? Pop around and I’ll show them to you.”  
  
 _“That won’t be necessary. Would you like me to teach Miss Westfall another lesson?”_  
  
“There’s no need to hurt Bridget. You’ll get your name, but I need more time so I can be mobile, again.”  
  
 _“You have exactly seven days, Doyle. Don’t let Miss Westfall down.”_  
  
Franky slammed the mobile down on the table. “Great! Fucking great!”  
  
Bea didn’t seem surprised by the latest development. “Ferguson’s getting desperate.”  
  
“She’s not the only one. What the fuck are we going to do?”  
  
“Tell Ferguson you’ll reveal the name when you meet up with her.”

“Yeah? Whose name? The Fairy Godmother?”

“It won’t matter. Let her organise the location that way she’ll think she has complete control. I’ll then take your place while you hang back and put in an anonymous call to the police. Hopefully, by the time they arrive, I will have finished her off and cleared out.”  
  
“That’s assuming she doesn’t kill you first. And what if the cops catch up with you? It will be all over the media alerting this Stalker guy as to your whereabouts. You’ll be a sitting duck stuck inside Wentworth.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had a hit taken out on me whilst stuck inside,” Bea said, referring to Vinnie Holt’s failed attempt. “But there’s still one thing we need before taking on Ferguson, and that’s the identity of the killer.”

**** **** ****

Vera sat at the small kitchen table, grateful for the tea which Franky offered her. “Thanks,” she said, wrapping her slim fingers around the hot cup to help keep her hands warm.

“Sorry about the lack of heating. The early mornings in this joint can get icy cold. Can I get you a blanket?”

“This will do fine.” Vera couldn’t resist asking about Franky’s appearance. “What happened to your face?”

“I’m trying out a fresh look. Do you like it?”

“No, and you’re not in Wentworth anymore, so you don’t need to cover for anyone. Are you in some sort of trouble?” Vera’s pleas were left unanswered, and she glanced around at the sparsely furnished apartment. “Has it something to do with why you’re holed up here and not at Bridget’s place?”

“It’s not safe for me there. Listen, I need to ask you some questions.”

“About Bridget?”

“No, but it involves her. What do you know about the Freak’s escape?”

“Joan Ferguson? That the police are still trying to locate her.”

“Yeah, that’s what the media said. Do you reckon she’s still alive?”

“What a strange question given there’s been no proof indicating otherwise.”

“It’s just that for someone who took Ferguson’s job and helped put her behind bars, you seem rather calm. If she were alive, wouldn’t you be afraid she’d be coming after you?”

“That’s not going to happen. And I didn’t do those things to her.”

“No? You better hope she feels the same way, huh?” Franky tapped her index finger upon the table several times, then pointed at Vera. “I think the reason you’re confident she won’t hunt you down, is because you believe for certain that Ferguson is dead and you know the identity of her killer. Perhaps it was you?”

“I don’t appreciate your wild accusations.” Vera placed the cup on the table and stood up. “I think I’d better leave.”

“She’s alive, Vera. Joan Ferguson is alive and out for revenge.”

Vera feinted a fake laugh to disguise the panic which was now rising within. “Look, Franky, I know you’re under a lot of pressure due to Bridget’s upcoming trial, but this entire story you’ve concocted is ridiculous!”

“Yeah, well, whoever killed the Freak, bungled the job, and that’s bad news for all of us, including you.”

Vera headed towards the front door, but Franky cut her off. “Wait, I’m not finished, yet. There’s someone you need to meet, but you may want to sit down first.”

“I don’t have time for any games, Franky. I’m required back at the prison.”

“Who’s playing games? You need to make the time, because she could save your life.”

Vera let out a slow, deliberate breath. “Get out of my way, Franky, or I will call the police.”

“Hey Red,” Franky called out. “Time to make your grand entrance into the real world.”

The door to the bedroom opened, and Bea Smith stepped out into the light of the lounge room. Vera fell back and Franky caught her before she could fall any further. She instinctively covered her stomach with both hands, as if to protect her unborn child.

“I won’t hurt you or your child,” Bea held out both hands to reassure her. “Please, sit down.”

Vera nodded. “I… I know. I just… you’re dead!”

“Yeah, you’re not the first to point that out.” Bea looked over at Franky, who shrugged. “I think it’s time you listen to my side of the story.”

Vera made herself comfortable and listened to Bea’s tale of survival and how Joan Ferguson was not only alive, but she was the reason Bridget was facing twenty years in prison and that Franky was being blackmailed into finding Ferguson’s killer, or risk Bridget being killed.

Vera held her head in her hands. “This is insane.”

“Which part?” Franky asked, flashing her a cheeky grin.

“All of it. If Bea wasn’t sitting before me right now, I’d say it’s a lie.”

“And now?”

“I need time to process this. Did Joan Ferguson give you those bruises, Franky?”

“And several bruised ribs. Wanna see?”

“No, thank you. That would explain why you haven’t been to visit Bridget. She’s been asking me every day if I’ve heard from you.”

“Yeah, I don’t want her seeing me like this, or she’ll go nuts being stuck inside. The last thing I need is an audience in the visitors centre, like last time.”

“Maybe I can do something about that.” Vera turned to Bea. “What do you want from me?”

“You know the identity of her killer, don’t you?” Bea asked her.

“Yes,” Vera took a sip from her cup. “But I can’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“Jesus, Vera! Now’s not the time to-“

Bea held up her hand to silence Franky. “How far along are you?”

“Eighteen weeks.” Vera smiled to herself. “It’s going to be a girl.”

“I remember when Debbie was born. I wanted to name her Grace after my mother, but Harry wouldn’t hear of it, insisting we name her after his mother. Instead, it became her middle name.”

“Grace is a lovely name,” Vera offered.

“I thought so, too.” Bea allowed herself to be taken back to when the nurse first handed Debbie to her. “The first time I held her in my arms, she was a precious gift which filled my heart with such happiness. And in that instant I felt a love that I had never experienced before; a type of bond that only a mother and child can share. I realised then I would do anything to protect my beautiful Debbie. _Anything_.”

“Including murder,” Franky leaned back in her chair and crossed her right ankle over her left knee. “Look where that got you.”

Bea nodded. “Yeah, but I kept my promise. One day soon, you too, will understand exactly what I mean.”

“I’m not sure what this has to do with me revealing Joan’s killer? I mean, technically they’re no longer a killer, are they?”

“That’s not how Ferguson views it, and she’s already threatened to kill Bridget should Franky not provide her with a name. If you continue to protect Ferguson’s killer, she will slaughter them and then she’ll hunt you down. How long do you think you’ll last?”

Vera covered her stomach protectively once more. “She wouldn’t dare hurt me or my daughter.”

Franky laughed. “Remember how she used Shane Butler? He was her lover’s kid and she would have destroyed him if I hadn’t intervened.”

“No, I can’t…”

Bea slapped the table hard with her palm. “C’mon, Vera, who are you protecting? Are they worth it? Because Ferguson won’t stop until everyone associated with her death is brought to her fucked-up idea of justice.”

“What guarantee can you give me we’ll all make it out the other side intact? And why shouldn’t I just go to the police with this information?”

“Are you shitting me?” Franky interrupted. “The police can’t save you. Bea is your _only_ chance!”

“The only guarantee I can give, is if you walk out that door without giving me a name, Ferguson will assume you’re responsible and will kill you and your baby, just like she did with Jake Stewart.” Vera’s lower jaw dropped, a small gasp escaping from her lips. “Yeah, that’s right. Jake’s death was no accident.”

Vera sat for several moments in silence, looking deflated by the true revelation behind Jake’s death. “Do you think Ferguson wants to pick us off one by one?”

“I believe so, but if it’s any consolation, she’ll be saving you until last, otherwise she would have killed you by now.”

“That’s a comforting thought,” Vera replied dryly. “Can you promise you’ll protect him, too?”

Franky was confused and looked to Bea for an answer, but all she did was sigh heavily. “I don’t get it, Bea. Why would she want you to protect Jake when he’s dead?”

“Jake’s not the one who needs protecting.” Bea had suspected who it was, but needed confirmation. “It’s Will Jackson, isn’t it, Vera?”

“No fucking way!” Franky shouted. “He’s Ferguson’s killer?”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Bea asked Vera, who nodded in silent agreement. “Then I promise I’ll protect Will Jackson, too.”


	8. The Adventures of Robin Hood, Little John and Friar Tuck

Kaz leaned back on her bed and closed her weary eyes, grateful for the few precious moments to herself. Being top dog could be a drainer and she often wondered if it was worth all the stress. The peace lasted less than five minutes before Boomer barged in complaining about Tina accusing her of putting bleach in her shampoo bottle, which resulted in blonde patches throughout Tina's hair.

 _Here we go again._ “Did you put bleach in her bottle?” Kaz asked her.

“Well, yeah… but only because she keeps calling me fat.”

Kaz shook her head. “You both need to sort it out.” Boomer’s mischievous grin gave away her true intentions. “Without violence, understand?”

“What’s the point if I can’t punch any tits in?” Boomer griped, nearly knocking Bridget over in the doorway as she left Kaz’s cell.

“Are you okay?” Bridget asked Kaz. “You’ve seemed a little distant since I told you about Ferguson – not that I could blame you.”

“Just the person I wish to see. Come in and close the door.” Kaz jumped up from the bed and approached Bridget. “Ferguson was supposed to die after escaping, but she’s like a fucking cockroach and somehow survived.”

“That would explain everyone’s chilly reception at that meeting.”

“Will Jackson failed in his attempt to kill her and you need to get a message out to Franky to let her know to stay away from Ferguson.”

“Will? Are you positive it’s him?”

Kaz nodded. “He told me. Whatever Ferguson’s got planned, she wouldn’t want any survivors or witnesses. And that includes Franky. I understand why you don’t want anyone knowing, but I’m sorry, I have to tell Will the truth because he needs to protect himself.”

“It’s too late. I just asked Linda Miles if I could speak to Will and she said he’s taken emergency leave.”

“Shit! Then it’s imperative you contact Franky ASAP. Maybe she can contact him.”

“I’ve been trying for the last few days and each time I call, it goes straight to her messagebank. You don’t suppose she’s already confronted Ferguson?”

A flicker of concern crossed Kaz’s face long enough for Bridget to notice. “No. Besides, there would have been a mention on the news if she’s missing, right?” _Unless they have yet to find the body_ , she thought grimly to herself.

**** **** ****

Franky walked into the bathroom, unware that Bea had just stepped out of the shower. Bea now stood before her, naked, and Franky’s eyes automatically wandered over Bea’s firm and slightly muscular torso and down towards the abdomen region, where she spotted several small slit-like scars which laid testament to Bea’s previous encounter with Joan Ferguson. Bea snatched the yellow threadbare towel from the railing and wrapped it around herself.

“Don’t you believe in knocking?”

“Um, yeah... sorry.” Franky turned to leave, but hesitated at the door. “The problem with those sorts of scars is they only serve as a painful reminder. Talking from personal experience, tattoo cover-up helps a great deal.”

Minutes later, Bea entered the lounge, now dressed in black jeans and a green t-shirt, using the towel to dry her hair. Franky peeked over the outdated magazine she was reading. “I really dig chicks with scars. There’s something about it which makes them sexy and alluring. Make me horny, too.”

“Will you quit flirting with me? Save it for Bridget.”

“No, I was trying to embarrass you. Learn to tell the difference.” Bea didn’t seem convinced. “C’mon, Red! If I wanted to get into your pants, I would have tried it back in Wentworth. Geez, just my luck I’m sharing a tiny living space with an assassin who’s also a prude.”

Bea felt her cheeks blush. “Now I know you’re trying to embarrass me.”

“Relax, you’re perfectly safe. Besides, unnatural redheads are not my thing.”

“Unnatural? Fuck you!”

“Hey, I’ve now seen your map of Tasmania, and it’s not red.”

Bea picked up a spare motorbike helmet from the floor and tossed it to Franky. “Put this on. Hopefully, it will fit your fat head.”  
  
Franky inspected the sleek silver helmet, noticing her image reflecting off the darkened visor. “Nice. Where are we going?”  
  
“You’ve had a few days to recuperate, and it’s now time to teach you how to defend yourself.”  
  
Franky forcibly threw the helmet back at her, but Bea caught it with ease. “I already know how to protect myself.”  
  
“Yeah? Remind me who came off second best against Ferguson in the laneway?”  
  
“She got lucky that night.” Franky lifted herself off the lounge suite and crossed her arms, too stubborn to acknowledge Bea was right. “If I didn’t have this stupid shoulder injury, then it would have been a fair fight.”  
  
“No, you got lucky, so stop making lame excuses. Ferguson will have no hesitation killing you once she has no further use for you.”

“What makes you so certain?”  
  
“Because it’s what I would do if I were in her shoes.” She threw the helmet at Franky once more. “Are you ready to fight for your life?”  
  
“You’re going to train me how to kill Ferguson?”  
  
“No, I need to teach you to defend yourself against her because the last thing I need, is to worry about you becoming a liability to me.”  
  
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”  
  
“Ferguson thinks she can rule over you.”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Franky pointed her finger into Bea’s collarbone. “No one fucking rules over me.”

Bea snatched Franky’s hand and twisted it into a wristlock. “Then she’ll be in for a nasty shock when you kick her sagging arse, won’t she?”

“Ow!” Franky grunted at the aching pain which shot up her arm. “I suppose that’s a cause I can get behind. Don’t suppose you’ll let me handle the bike and you ride shotgun?” Bea twisted the hand further. “Yeah, I thought not.”

Bea parked the bike in the unsealed carpark of Redwood Forest, a national park on the outskirts of Warburton, 75km east of Melbourne. The tall, redwood trees stretched so high that when Franky looked up, she could barely see the clear blue sky through the thick foliage. “It’s stunning, but also the type of place where you can dump a body without fear of it being discovered.”

“Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” Bea threw Franky a cheeky wink.

“Er, right. So when can I call Gidge? It’s been ages and she’ll be worried.”

“I told you, Vera will keep us informed of any fresh developments. I need you to concentrate on the issues at hand without guilt or accidentally revealing any truths to Bridget, because too many people know of my existence, already.”

Franky cursed each time she tripped over any fallen branches which littered the barely distinguishable pathway. After several more minutes of sweat, swatting away flies, and traversing over the rocky terrain, she decided Mother Nature and her persistent army of little beasties could go screw themselves. _Give me the city, anytime!_ “Jesus, Red! How far in are we going?”

“Deep into the forest where no one can accidentally stumble across us. The last thing I want is an audience thinking we’re trying to kill one another.”

“What’s in the backpack you’re carrying?”

“Food and other supplies.”

“Did you bring any weapons?”

“Yeah, my fists and anything else I can lay my hands upon.”

“Does that include-”

Bea cut her off. “All these fucking questions! You’re like an annoying kid in the back seat of a car on a long road trip.”

“Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” Franky shot back, deliberately testing Bea’s patience further.

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Bea carefully placed the backpack on the ground and snatched up a nearby dead branch, taking a swing at Franky, sending her hurtling to the ground. She stood over her with the splintered end of the branch digging into Franky’s chest like a spear. “Never _ever_ let your guard down.”

Franky rose to her feet, wiping the dirt off her hands onto her faded black jeans. She went to take the branch from Bea, but Bea let go, sending Franky and the branch to the ground again.

“Give up?” Bea asked.

“Fuck off.”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Give me something to work with here,” Franky complained as she accepted Bea’s outstretched hand to help her to her feet.

“Why? The Freak won’t wait around for you to make the first move.” Bea sighed and held out her hands to Franky. “Okay, see how long you can hold on to my wrists.”

“It’s hardly a challenge, but I’ll do it to show you I’m no slouch in defending myself.” Franky attempted to wrap her hands around Bea’s slim wrists, but Bea quickly dislodged the firm grip with ease. She then pushed the heel of her palm into Franky’s nose, but stopped short of connecting with it. “How did you do that? The wrist thingy?” Franky asked her. “How did you break it with such ease when I had a firm grip on you?”

“Easy. If someone holds your wrists from above, you pull downwards. If they grab your wrists underneath, you jolt your hands upwards. Don’t waste precious energy trying to pry their fingers loose, because it won’t work.” They switched roles and Bea now held Franky’s wrists tightly. “The thumb is the weakest point and they can’t keep their grip no matter how tight they hold your wrists, just as long as you pull in the right direction. Okay, give it your best shot.”

Franky followed through, surprised at how easy it was to break Bea’s hold. “And then you use the diversion to smash their nose, right?”

“Or you can slash their face with this.” Bea tossed over a small flick knife. “Keep it on you at all times.”

Franky pressed the small lever, releasing the one inch blade from within the steel handle. “Too small to kill, but not to maim,” she quipped. Bea tapped the side of her own neck as a reminder. “Right. I forgot about that.” Franky pocketed the knife down her cleavage. “Gidge will be in for a rude shock when she puts her hands down there next time. Don’t suppose you’ll show me where you keep your knife?”

“It’s always about sex with you, isn’t it?”

“Not always. I like to eat, beforehand.” Franky licked her lips and pointed downwards. “Bit of an entrée, if you know what I mean. C’mon, Red, when was the last time you had sex? Actual sex? Your own fingers and vibrators don’t count.”

Bea scrunched up her face in mock thought. “Early eighteenth century, if memory serves me correct.”

“It was with Allie, right?”

“I don’t want to talk about something so personal.”

“Sex? Or that you still love her?”

“Why can’t you leave it alone?”

“Because you’re one of the good guys, and I hate the thought that you’ll never allow yourself to be happy.”

“You sound like a fucking broken record. This is me, now. Don’t you get it? I can’t doom Allie to a life of uncertainty.”

“Isn’t that her choice to make?”

“She’s made her choice and is now with Ruby, remember? You’re also forgetting that I’m a rogue with a price on my head.”

“That’s because she thinks you’re dead. Okay, rogue girl, I’ll make a deal with you.”

“I don’t do deals.”

Franky ignored her comment. “If I can drop you to the ground before you drop me, you shout me the first drink and tell me about your love life.”

“And when I win?”

“Then you shout me the first drink and tell me about your love life.”

“What kind of-” Bea didn’t get the chance to complete the sentence as the stinging sensation of soil hit her in the face, the small particles penetrating her closed eyelids. Franky followed through with a solid mid-air kick to Bea’s midriff, and if she hadn’t caught Franky’s foot in time, she would be sprawled on the ground. Instead, she twisted Franky’s foot, but it backfired when Franky lost her balance and tumbled onto her, sending them both crashing to the ground.

“Well, well, well,” Franky said, a huge smirk appearing upon her face as she lay on top of Bea. “Looks like you hit the ground first and now owe me a drink and some steamy stories. You can start with your time with Allie and make sure not to leave out any sordid details.”

With blurred vision, Bea placed her palm under Franky’s chin and pushed it upwards, using the weight of her body to flip Franky onto her back. Making use of the flick knife she pulled from Franky’s cleavage, Bea pressed the blade’s sharp tip into Franky’s neck. “I told you, I don’t do deals, got it?” Bea lifted herself off Franky and used a bottle of water from the backpack to rinse the dirt from her eyes.

“Fine, whatever,” Franky muttered in a huff as she retrieved the stick Bea had used on her earlier, opting to head off down the trail which then opened into a large clearing. A rustling in the tree above made her look up moments before a buffed man dressed only in blue jeans and hiking boots jumped down in front of her. “Fuck me!”

“G’day, Franky. Did I scare you?”

“You scared the shit out of me, Mr J!” Franky said, holding her hand over her thumping heart. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just swinging from the trees, doing my best Tarzan impersonation.” Will flexed his sweaty pecs like he was a Mr Universe entrant. “What do you think?”

“Gross. You’re trying to impress the wrong person.”

Bea joined them in the clearing. “Will, it’s good to see you again.” She approached him and they embraced, like two old friends rather than that of a correctional officer and prisoner. Bea pulled away, embarrassed at seeing Will without his shirt on.

Will picked up on her awkwardness, but neglected to say anything. Instead, he accepted the backpack she handed him. “Yes!” Will exclaimed with excitement as he pulled a six-pack of beer from the bag. “You’ve read my mind, Bea!”

“She does that a lot… wait, you know about Bea?” Franky asked Will.

“Yep. She turned up at my house two days ago and stood at the foot of my bed while I was sleeping. Thought I was hallucinating until I remembered I gave up the drugs a while ago. Don’t mind admitting I needed to change the bed sheet afterwards!”

Bea laughed and couldn’t resist a dig. “You should have seen his face. Much better reaction than Vera.”

“But why is he out here with us?”

“I promised Vera I’d protect him, remember? Will’s camping within the park’s boundaries until we catch Ferguson.”

“You know, it would have been much easier on all of us if you had actually killed that psycho bitch.”

“Franky, that’s totally uncalled for,” Bea reprimanded her.

“No, she’s right, Bea. As much as I hated having her haunt my nightmares, now she’s back haunting me in real life and that’s far worse.”

“Even so, it’s bad enough sleeping with the images of the people we kill. Right, Franky?” Bea asked her.

“Point taken. Sorry, Mr J. So what now?”

Bea snatched the branch back from Franky and tossed it to Will. “Now we get down to some serious training, two against one.”

“Great.” Franky watched Will as he treated the stick like a real quarterstaff, spinning it around in mid-air with ease. “I feel like Friar Tuck stuck out in the middle of Sherwood Forest with Robin Hood and Little John.”

“What are you talking about?” Will asked Franky. “You’re Little John.”

“I am? Cool! I can live with that.”

“That’s right,” Bea confirmed. “Everyone knows Little John gets his arse handed to him by Friar Tuck when he belts him with his quarterstaff.”

**** **** ****

Bridget thanked Vera for seeing her at short notice. “I’m worried about Franky. I’ve been trying to phone her but she won’t pick up.”

“She’s fine,” Vera assured her. “I saw her four days ago.”

“You did? Is she okay? Where is she?”

“Bridget, calm down. Franky has a few things which need tending to and will be in contact with you shortly.”

“I’m not sure what she’s told you, but Joan Ferguson contacted her and organised to meet up with her last week. I haven’t heard from her since and I’m fraught with worry.”

“Yes, I’m aware of the whole situation.”

“You are? Then give it to me straight. Franky’s been hurt, hasn’t she?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Vera, _please!_ You know what’s going on, so cut with this bullshit and tell me!”

Vera hesitated. "Joan Ferguson injured her in their confrontation and Franky needed time to recuperate. She’s now doing fine and is back on her feet.”

“Fuck!” Bridget cried out in frustration. “Why did you keep this a secret when I have a right to know?”

“You need to calm down.” Vera offered her a tissue. “I was instructed not to say anything because Franky doesn’t want you would to worry.”

“Of course I would worry! You and I are both aware of Ferguson’s capabilities and if Franky and Will are planning to take her on, they’ll lose and I… I can’t bear the thought of losing her.”

“How did you know about Will?“ Vera shook her head at the effectiveness of the prison grapevine. “All I can say is Will is in hiding and I promise you that Franky is safe. She just needs a little longer to clear your name.”

“You know I’m innocent?”

Vera nodded. “Yes. You need to stay close to Kaz and not attempt to do anything stupid like take on an entire crew by yourself. In the meantime, I’ll try to pass on any messages.”

“Try? No offence, but it’s important I see for myself that she’s safe rather than take your word for it.”

“I’m sorry, but Franky’s difficult to contact at the moment as she’s living off the grid. I’m not sure when she’ll be back, but as soon as she makes contact, I’ll organise for her to see you.”

**** **** ****

The moon was high by the time Bea rode back into Melbourne. Franky tapped on top of Bea’s helmet and she pulled over. Franky dismounted and undid her helmet, grateful to stretch her legs. “Time for a bit of rest and recreation.”

“Are you for real? You want us to be seen together out in public?”

“I’m no longer a wanted escapee and you’re dead, so what’s the big deal?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Shit, Red, when was the last time you let your curls down and knocked back a few drinks in a local bar?”

“Never,” Bea mumbled, placing her helmet on the handlebars. “Harry never took me out anywhere, nor did he allow me to hang out with work colleagues after hours.”

“And now?”

“What do you reckon?”

“I reckon it’s time you discovered what you’ve been missing out on all these years.”

Not bothering to argue the point, Bea followed Franky into a nearby busy establishment where they claimed the last two available stools at the counter.

“What’s your poison, Red?”

“Just a coffee.”

“Fuck that.” Franky shouted so she could be heard over the noisy patrons surrounding them. “Hey, bartender! Line me up with four shots of B52’s. My prudish friend is felling generous, tonight.”

“Franky!”

“What? It’s got coffee in it!”

The bartender took Bea’s money, placing the shots in front of them, watching as Franky and Bea skolled them one after the other.

“Hit us up again, bartender.” Franky slapped a fifty dollar note on the counter and turned her attention back to Bea. “What’s the deal between you and Mr J? You turned every shade of red when you finally noticed his bare chest. It was kinda cute in a school girl sort of way.”

“There’s nothing going on, so quit jumping to conclusions.”

“So, no late night visits to your cell? Bummer.”

“Years ago I saw him without his shirt on.”

“Hey, I remember you telling us that story! Man, Boomer shook the entire unit that night!” Franky laughed out loud. “Geez, Red! It’s like you’ve got a split personality. On one hand, you’ve got Firebird who’s one mean bitch capable of taking down an entire army, but on the other, you’re still the same old Bea Smith from when you first entered Wentworth.”

“You make it sound like I’m the freak.”

“On the contrary, I enjoy seeing your vulnerable side. You should let it slip more often.” Franky polished off another shot and let out a long belch. “On to something far more pressing. I’m claiming my bet, Red.”

“Forget it, Franky. We’re not talking about Allie, nor my lack of sex life.”

“Plenty of time to weasel it out of you later. Next question. Why Firebird?”

“Because firebird is another name for a phoenix, a mythical bird-like creature which when it dies, is reborn from its own ashes. A bit like me, really.”

“Cool story. The chicks will totally dig it.”

“But it’s also part reference to the colour of my hair, and a nod to my days of past as a jailbird.”

Franky glared at her with raised eyebrows, a knowing smirk now plastered upon her face.

Bea shook her head, sighing heavily. “Fuck, you’re annoying. If you were anybody else, you’d be dead by now.”

“I didn’t say a word!”

“Okay, so I dye my hair. Happy, now?” Bea downed a shot, appreciating the warm buzz.

“Nup. Have you had enough of those yet?”

“Why? Are you purposely getting me drunk to take advantage of me?”

“Actually,” Franky pointed to the tattoo shop across the road which could be seen through the large window. “You’re going to get inked. I was thinking a phoenix would look shit hot down the side of the ribcage, with its tail feathers extending out and over those scars on your abdomen. Will be bloody painful, but so worth it.”

“I stopped feeling pain a long time ago.” Bea finished off her last shot. “Okay, I’m in, but only if you match it.”

“But my ribs are still tender!”

Bea broke out into a smile. “Bartender, a straight double scotch for my pussy friend to give her courage and help numb the pain, before she gets a chicken tattooed on her arse.”

“Pussy? Chicken? Fuck you! Make it to go, bartender.”

“We don’t sell takeaway,” the bartender informed her.

Bea winked at him and handed over four fifty dollar notes. “Give us a full bottle and keep the change.”

**** **** ****

Bea laid on her left side, appearing relaxed as the piercing of the gun’s needle penetrated her skin. In fact, she enjoyed the prickling sensation it gave her, especially the extra pressure whenever the gun pressed into the side of her ribcage. What she found irritating was Franky’s insistence that she was faking it.

“You telling me you don’t feel any pain?” Franky asked, slurring her words. “A big fat zero?”

“Nope. It’s all in the mind. Control the mind, and you control the pain.” Bea took another swig from the bottle, handing it back to Franky so she could have another drink.

“I think you’re full of shit.” Franky nodded at the tattooist, who stopped long enough for her to pour straight scotch on the open pores of Bea’s exposed skin.

“Ah, fuck! Franky!”

Franky burst out laughing, draping her arm around the tattooist’s shoulder for support, and offered him a drink from the bottle. He politely declined. “Okay, but I have to warn you, my mate here is a trained assassin, so you’d better do a good job, or she’ll hunt you down and stab you in the neck with a pen! True story!” Moments later, Franky collapsed in a drunken stupor on the nearby lounge suite.

“Ignore her, she’s the one full of shit,” Bea told the tattooist. “And make sure she gets tattooed. I have the perfect design in mind and I’d hate to see it go to waste.”


	9. Rendezvous

The mid-afternoon sun which filtered through the kitchen window was too bright for Bea’s blood-shot eyes. She sat hunched over at the table nursing a terrific hangover, wondering how Franky had conned her into last night’s escapades. Luckily the strong black coffee was going down a treat and would no doubt help ease her pounding headache, as long as she didn’t make any sudden movements.

_“ARRRGGGHHHHHHH!!!”_

Even though the piercing scream cut straight through Bea, she still managed a slight chuckle as Franky barged into the kitchen in a panic.

“You’re fucking shitting me?” Franky shouted at her.

“What’s shitting you?”

“There’s a love heart entwined with an infinity symbol tattooed on my arse with the words, ‘Branky Forever’!”

“I thought your request seemed a bit odd, but you were insistent,” Bea lied, keeping a straight face. “Said it was a cute pet name for the pair of us and that lovers should never be afraid to reveal their true feelings for one another.”

“But... but Bridget will kill me!”

“Yeah, I suppose she would. I mean... I wouldn’t be impressed if my girlfriend got her arse tattooed with another girl’s name. I must admit though, it was flattering to see what you really think of me, but we both know it could never work out between us.”

“What? No! There is no us. Period.” Franky paced the length of the tiny kitchen several times. “What the fuck am I going to do? Do you know any tattoo removalists?”

“Nope, but I could heat up a knife and burn it off? It will leave a nasty scar, though.”

“This is serious! Each tatt has a special meaning to me!”

“Will you plant your arse on the chair and turn the volume down a few notches? My head feels like it’s about to explode.”

Franky shook her head. “Nup. It’ll hurt, and after yesterday’s training, the last thing I need is more pain.”

“No, it won’t. Mine didn’t bother me when I had it done several years ago.”

“You have a tatt on one of your cheeks?”

“A single stemmed rose. I’m surprised you didn’t see it yesterday when I stepped out of the shower.”

“I would have, had you turned around.” Franky eased herself into the chair, relieved it didn’t cause her any discomfort. Bea pushed her cup of coffee towards her, which she gratefully accepted. “Voice sounds a little croaky, Bea. You’re not hungover by any chance?”

“Shut up, or I’ll kill you.”

“Awwww, poor widdle Firebird can’t handle her piss. Not so tough now, aye?”

“You drank more than me. Why aren’t you affected?”

Franky took several sips of coffee before replying. “Years of drinking prison grog has toughened me up both inside and out.”

“Yet you couldn’t outlast me.” Bea clicked her fingers, and Franky handed over the coffee. “By the way, you’re a heavy fucker to carry home.”

“What about the bike?”

“I was too sloshed to ride, and you were incapable of holding on and would have fallen off. Besides, I stole the bike and attached fake number plates. Thought it wise to leave it at the bar in case we drew the attention of the police.”

“Fuck, Bea!” Franky held out her hand and Bea passed the cup back. “I could have been arrested for parole violation!”

“Awwww, poor widdle Fwanky! You’re hanging out with a dead person, and you’re worried about being nabbed for possession of a stolen bike?”

“If I go down, I’m taking you with me as my prison bitch. So, what form of medieval torture does Firebird have planned for me today?”

“None. You’re off the hook, princess. I need to pick up some arsenal.”

“You’re still going ahead with killing Ferguson on your own?”

“There’s no other option.”

“Yes, there is. Hide and wait for Allie. After seeing you in action yesterday, I reckon you’re more than capable of anything or anyone sent your way.”

“Drop it, Franky.”

“Make me.”

“I won’t tell you again.”

Franky felt the strong vibes of anger radiate off Bea, but continued to stand her ground. “No. I want to talk to Bea, not Firebird.”

Bea jumped up and dragged Franky out of the chair, forcing her up against the kitchen wall. With her fist raised and ready to pummel into Franky, she hesitated. “C’mon, belt me!” Franky egged her on further. “I know Firebird wants to... she’s threatened me enough times!”

“Fuck!” Bea shouted in frustration, and smashed her fist into the wall near Franky’s head, leaving behind a gaping hole.

Franky surveyed the damage to the wall, concerned at how volatile the situation had become with just a few words. “What the hell did they do to you, Red?”

“They sucked out what little soul I had and left behind an empty shell.” Bea examined her bloodied knuckles; a solemn tear splashed upon the grazed skin stinging her. “I’m no better than Ferguson, am I?” Bea sniffed. “I’m scared, Franky. Scared of losing control and becoming like... _her_.”

Franky placed her hands upon Bea’s shoulders. “Hey, that’s complete bullshit. Firebird kills because she has no choice, whereas Ferguson kills to cover her wrong-doings. Big difference. And if she were here right now, she’d call you a fool and accuse you of being weak, for letting your emotions get in the way of teaching me a lesson.”

“And Bea Smith? Where does she fit in?”

“She did what she had to survive - like the rest of us.” Franky pulled her hands away. “I have a question, and it’s not directed at Firebird, but to Bea Smith, because she’s still in there, somewhere. If things were different, would you go to Allie?”

Bea wiped away more tears. “What you’re really asking me is, do I still love her?”

“No, I already know the answer to that question. You did more than just let her into your life, but into your heart, too. And I don’t care what shitty lies you tell yourself, you’ll never stop loving her because she’s your soulmate.”

Bea looked away, fearful that Franky had dented her hardened armour. “Think you know it all, don’t you, Miss Westfall?”

“I believed I did until Gidge came along. Only then did I realise she completes me, like Allie completes you. Trust me, love is too precious to throw away intentionally, and if you’re lucky enough to find that special person, never let them go.”

“What if Allie doesn’t love me, anymore?”

Franky remembered when she tried to hit on Allie, and how she rejected her advances. “Allie will never stop loving you for the same reason you love her: because you saved one another. Many people go through their entire lives without ever experiencing that kind of love.”

Bea felt like she had been granted permission to be her old self again, breaking into a deep and sorrowful cry, finally allowing herself to mourn the loss of her past life.

_Damn you, Franky._

Franky went to her and wrapped her arms tightly around Bea’s slender body, gently comforting her with her soothing voice. “It’s okay to let it all out, Red. Love can be a bitch, but it can be beautiful, too. And although it can rip your heart out, never ever fear it as a weakness.”

“I love her so much, it tears me up inside.” Bea wept into Franky’s shoulder, dampening her shirt.

“Is that why you hide behind Firebird’s tough exterior?”

Bea nodded. “I wish I could see my beautiful girl one last time.”

 _You will, one day._ Franky thought to herself. _I don’t know how, but I promise._

**** **** ****

Boomer turned the taps off in the shower and towelled herself dry. “That was another good workout today, Twiggy. Those bitches haven’t tried anything since we started training you a few days ago. Reckon they’re all shittin’ themselves, aye?”

Bridget massaged the shampoo into her scalp. “Are you ever going to call me Bridget?”

“No bloody likely. You’ve about as much hope being called Bridget as I have of being called Sue. Does it really bug you that much? Cause the more you object, the more people will say it just to piss you off.”

“I’ve noticed. No, I’ve got used to it. At least I’m more confident being able to deal with any troublemakers, and hopefully, Ferguson will be caught soon so you won’t need to coach me for much longer.”

“I don’t mind. Gives me something to do, aye?”

Bridget wiped away the shampoo suds from her face and leaned her elbows on the ledge separating the two shower cubicles. “If memory serves me correct, you’re soon due for parole.”

“Haven’t really given it much thought.”

“You should. What’s the first thing you’ll do?”

Boomer shrugged. “If you’d asked me a year ago, I would’ve said to knock me sister’s block off for stealin’ Daz away from me. But I dunno... now I’d kill for one of those soft serve ice creams. I remember me mum taking us kids down to the beach all the time and buying us an ice cream, so yeah... walking along the beach and feeling the sand between me toes would be nice.”

“Is there anyone special waiting for you on the outside?”

“No one worth mentionin’. All me real family is in here, except Franky. I’d love to chill with Franky on the outside, although you probably wouldn’t want someone like me hanging around your place.”

“Not true. I would be honoured to hang out with you.”

“I’d like that, but first, we gotta work on getting you free, aye?” Boomer snorted. “I reckon I know what you’d be missing most.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“You really love her, aye?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“I hope I can find someone to love me as much as you love Franky.”

“You will, Boomer,” Bridget said as she ducked under the shower head to rinse off the shampoo. “You have a lot of love to give.”

“I suppose so.” Boomer finished dressing and left the cubicle to brush the tangles out of her wet hair. “Hey, did you and Franky... y’know... ever... _do it_ in your office when you was workin’ here?”

Bridget laughed out loud. “Boomer! Way to wreck the moment.”

“Well, did ya? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.”

“No!”

“Wasted opportunity, if you ask me. Bet you can’t wait to get back home and make up for lost time though.”

“I miss sharing my bed with Franky. Her loving touch, her familiar smell. Having her lying beside me and holding me close, made me feel safe.”

“You know what you need? A conjugal visit. Have a root and a massage and you’ll be your old self again.”

“Right now, I’d be happy just to talk to her on the phone.”

“You still haven’t heard from her?”

“Nope, I hope she’s alright.”

“Listen, I’m shit with sayin’ the right thing, but I know Franky. She’ll be right, you’ll see. Franky loves you and she’ll be back once she’s sorted out Ferguson.”

“Do you really believe Franky will be okay?” Bridget asked hopefully.

“Fuckin’ oath. If she doesn’t, I’ll kill her, aye?”

Bridget popped her head around the curtain and gave Boomer a warm smile. “Thanks for the encouragement, Boomer, along with all your help. I wouldn’t have made it this far without you. You are a great mate with a big heart.”

Boomer hated awkward moments like this. _So much easier to punch some tits._ “Yeah. Look, are you nearly finished? Cause Allie gave me a new picture of Fev which I want to check out, if you know what I mean.”

“Almost done.”

Linda Miles entered the shower block, still sporting a bandaged nose. “Jenkins, you’re wanted in Medical.”

“What for? I ain’t done nothin’.”

“Random drug test.”

“I can’t. Gotta wait for Twig... er, Bridget.”

“How sweet, but I’m sure Westfall can find her way back to her own unit.”

“But...”

“What are you? Her bloody GPS? Get going, or you’re on report.”

“It’s alright, Boomer,” Bridget assured her. “There’s plenty of people coming and going at this time of day.”

Minutes after Boomer left, Juice and the boys entered the shower block and approached a young woman who was brushing her teeth. Stella grabbed the woman by her ponytail. “Juice says get the fuck out of here and keep your mouth shut, or you’re next!”

The woman gathered up her possessions and made a hasty retreat, thankful it wasn’t her that Juice wanted.

Juice slid back the white shower curtain and Stella peeked over her shoulder and spoke on her behalf. “Look what we have here, Franky’s little squeeze toy.”

Bridget spotted the screwdriver Juice held in her hand and instinctively covered her privates. “What do you want?” She asked, trying not to show any fear in her voice. “You’ve already claimed your pound of flesh.”

Juice puckered her lips and blew her a kiss, taking her time checking out Bridget’s naked body.

“She’s hot, Juice. Reckon Franky’s onto a good thing here!” Stella said, as the boys joined in with a chorus of laughter.

Juice stepped into the shower, not bothered by the water spray which drenched her teal uniform. Bridget backed up against the far wall and Juice sneered, revealing her rotted teeth. She took another step forward and pushed Bridget’s hands away, pressing the handle of the screwdriver between her breasts, edging it down towards her belly button.

Stella continued to represent Juice’s end of the conversation. “Nowhere for you to go, is there, Miss Westfall?”

Bridget slapped Juice’s hand away. “Don’t touch me!”

“You’ve got spunk. Juice likes that. But if you’re good enough for Franky, then you’re good enough for her. Did Franky tell you about the time she and Juice fucked in this very shower? Course, it wasn’t what she wanted, but Juice certainly enjoyed it.” Juice and the boys roared with laughter.

“I’m warning you, Juice.”

“Better watch out, Juice, the little fox terrier is gonna bite you if you’re not careful!”

Juice switched to the pointy end and held the screwdriver inches away from Bridget’s throat, as Stella leaned her right hand against the shower’s entrance, effectively cutting off the only escape route. “Lucky for you, we have clear instructions not to kill you. However, there was nothing mentioned about having a little fun.”

Bridget felt a sense of déjà vu, as traumatic memories of being raped many years ago came flooding back. _No!_ _Never again!_ She lashed out with a left hook to Juice’s mouth, followed by a swift kick to the upper thigh, sending Juice stumbling backwards into Stella, giving her enough time to pull the shiv from her toiletries bag which sat on the nearby ledge.

“Stay the fuck away from me!”

Stella pointed at the shiv. “Geez, Juice, check her out! I reckon the psych has turned psycho! Maybe it’s time we give Miss Westfall the best fuck of her life?”

Juice nodded, but before she could act upon it, Bridget plunged the shiv deep into her right shoulder. Her eyes widened in surprise as she looked down to see Bridget remove the scissors; blood now gushing from the opened wound and staining the teal hoodie red. Juice gasped, dropping to both knees on the tiled floor, tipping forward and accidentally impaling herself in the stomach with her own screwdriver.

Bridget held up the shiv in her trembling and bloodied hand, as a warning that the same fate awaited anyone else who wanted to take her on.

_Act like a nutter and shout a few choice words at them, cause they may back off if they think you’re..._

“Bat-shit crazy!” Bridget finished the sentence out loud and took a swipe at Stella with the shiv. “One down, three to go. Which one of you fuckwits is next?!”

“Bitch is fucking looney!” Stella shouted, as she and the boys decided it wiser to abandon the fight, rather than risk getting themselves killed and disappeared, leaving their fallen leader behind.

**** **** ****

Franky held the Fairbairn-Sykes double-edged fighting knife in her hand, imitating the stabbing motions of Norman Bates in the bathroom scene from _Psycho_. “Be careful with that,” Bea warned her. “It will slice your fingers off.”

“How many knives does an assassin need?”

“Two at the moment, but generally, as many as we want.” Bea took the weapon from her. “This is a dagger, convenient for throwing at people. Unfortunately, I had to leave my old one in Tokyo.”

“Yeah, don’t you hate when that happens? How’s your fist?”

“I’ve had worse. Luckily, the wall is made from a thin plasterboard.” Bea flexed her bandaged hand. “Okay, let’s go over the plan. Is your phone switched on? Because Ferguson will call shortly.”

“Yep.” Franky pulled the mobile from her pocket and placed it on the table. “I hope you’re right.”

“Positive.” Bea sat down and commenced sliding a large survival knife against her sharpening stone, holding the five-inch blade at a twenty-degree angle to refine its carbon steel edge. “Her life is controlled by order, and the temptation to dictate the terms will prove too much of a burden to resist. I suspect Ferguson will set the terms, and we’re going to let her.”

“What am I going to say when she asks for a name?”

“Will Jackson, of course.”

“Explain to me how by telling Ferguson he was responsible, will save his life?”

“Because she already knows it’s him, that’s why.”

“You knew by hiding him she’ll know for certain he’s the killer, right?”

“Yes. Tell her you’ll bring him personally to whatever location she desires, which will most likely be the laneway where you first met.”

“Why would she choose the same location?”

“The hunter within will crave to return to the same place she associates with the success of humiliating you the first time around. It will also mark your and Will’s death scene, so Ferguson can close that chapter in her life.”

“Wow, I’m glad I asked,” Franky remarked dryly, feeling slightly deflated. “I don’t suppose your crystal ball will tell you what time she’ll call?”

“7.00pm.”

“How could you possibly know something like that?”

“It’s the time she called last week and said she’d call back in exactly seven days.” Bea plunged the tip of the blade into the tabletop, satisfied with its sharpness. “Remember, the magic word is _exactly_.”

Franky checked her watch. “Then she has exactly-”

The mobile rang. “Bang on time. Don’t keep Ms Ferguson waiting, Francesca,” Bea quipped. “You know how she despises tardiness.”

Franky flipped Bea a one-fingered salute as she answered the call.

_“How are you today, Franky?”_

“I wasn’t aware you gave a fuck.”

_“How uncouth. Constant vulgarity is the language of simpletons unable to hold a civilised discussion.”_

Bea kicked Franky under the table to capture her attention. “Don’t aggravate her,” she mouthed to her.

“You’re after a name, right?”

_“Not anymore. I’ve happened upon some disturbing news since our last conversation. Isn’t it a remarkable coincidence that Will Jackson has vanished without trace?”_

“Perhaps he’s relaxing on a tropical beach, sipping cocktails and eyeing off the local women. I know that’s what I’d prefer to be doing, rather than sitting here, talking to you.”

_“Ha. You wouldn’t be hiding him from me, would you Franky?”_

“Now how could a simpleton like me possibly plan something so complex?”

_“Because you feel obligated to help him, given he forgave you for killing his wife. He always was spineless, but I underestimated his hatred towards me. Fortunately for me, he was too gutless to finish the job properly.”_

“You have it all figured out, don’t you?”

_“I don’t misjudge people, Franky. They misjudge me. Bring him to that laneway where we first met at 5.00am. If you’re not there tomorrow morning with Will, I’ll kill Vera personally, and give the order to eliminate Bridget.”_

Franky hung up the phone and stared at Bea. “Any other bright ideas, Red?”

“It’s perfect. Ferguson set the scene, convinced she has complete control.” Bea eyed off Franky’s physique. “We’re about the same in height and measurements, too.”

**** **** ****

“For the last time,” Boomer growled at Liz. “Gimme me Monte Carlos, you interfering old woman!”

“Now, Boomer, you asked me to hold on to them for you and made me promise to give you one packet per day.”

“And you believed me? Can’t you see I’m starvin’? I want me Monte Carlos, Liz. I need me fucking...” Boomer stopped mid-sentence, distracted by the image she saw over Liz’s shoulder. “Aww, shit!”

Liz turned and saw Bridget standing in the doorway to Boomer’s cell, still holding the shiv in her right hand. The argument now forgotten, Liz took a couple of slow steps towards her, holding out her hand. “Give me the shiv, love.”

Bridget shook her head. “I didn’t want to stab her, but she just wouldn’t listen.”

“Who? Who did you stab?”

“Juice.”

“That woman is vile. Never apologise for protecting yourself from harm. Now give me the shiv before the screws catch you.”

Bridget handed the weapon over and collapsed against Liz, crying hysterically. “Here,” Liz said to Boomer as she handed her the shiv. “Hide this someplace safe.”

“I didn’t think she’d have the balls to use it,” Boomer said, as she wrapped it in toilet paper.

“You gave her the shiv?”

“Yeah, me and Ruby’s been teachin’ her how to use it, but it was Franky’s idea.”

Alarm bells pierced around them. _This is a Code Blue. All inmates are to return to their cells immediately... This is a Code Blue..._

“We’ll talk about this later, Boomer. Get going!”

Liz guided Bridget to the outside of her cell for the head count. “Listen to me carefully. Juice is not worth time in the slot and copping an extended sentence, so keep quiet.”

“But l killed her,” cried Bridget.

“No, you didn’t, or it would be a Code Black,” Liz assured her. “You need to pull yourself together, or you’ll never see Franky on the outside again. Do you understand me?”

Despite the shock now setting in, Bridget nodded, not fully comprehending the dire situation. Liz stood outside her own cell, wondering how to divert the officers’ attention, or they would see through Bridget’s fragile exterior.

“Where the bloody hell is everyone?” Liz muttered to herself.

Allie and Ruby strolled through the gate, laughing and holding hands. “Alright! Who got sliced and diced?”

Before Liz could answer Ruby’s question, Boomer barged between them looking annoyed, with Linda Miles following closely behind. “Where were you, Jenkins?”

“Geez, I told you already! I was takin’ a dump!”

“Can anyone verify that?”

“Yeah, the dunny. Wanna go back and check?” Boomer picked her nose in front of Linda and flicked the balled-up snot at her.

Linda was repulsed. “You’re disgusting, Jenkins. I should slot you.” She took a quick look around, noting that everyone other than Kaz was present, and left, locking the gate behind her.

“Well, that’s just great!” Boomer shouted, banging against the bars. “What about me fuckin’ dinner?”

“Nice distraction, Boomer,” Liz said as she rushed over to assist Bridget to the table.

“What distraction? I really am starvin’!”

Ruby patted Boomer on her shoulder. “There’s a stash of biscuits hidden behind my boxing magazines on the shelf. Help yourself.”

“Yeah? I’m not replacing ‘em, aye?” Boomer disappeared into Ruby’s cell.

“What’s going on?” Allie asked Liz as she and Ruby joined them at the table.

“It appears Bridget stabbed Juice.”

“You took on a whole crew? That’s deadly, sis!” Ruby said. “You’ve obviously got awesome teachers.”

Allie agreed. “Yeah, no doubt the bitch deserved it. Good one, Bridge.”

“That’s all very well and good, but what if the screws discover it was Bridget?” Liz pointed out.

“I saw nothing.” Allie turned to Ruby. “Did you?”

“See what? I ain’t seen nothing.”

“But what if Juice talks to the officers?” Bridget asked them.

“Juice is many things, but she’s not a lagger,” Allie replied. “And the boys won’t say or do anything without her consent.”

Officer Webb slid open the gate, letting Kaz into the unit. She waited until the officer was further down the corridor and out of earshot.

“What the hell is going on around here? I’ve just come from the governor’s office and heard Juice has been hospitalised after coming off second best in a fight. Please tell me this has nothing to do with you, Bridget?”

“Juice and her boys wanted to gang me, and I had to defend myself. What was I supposed to do? Let them rape me?”

Liz leaned back in her chair. “Sounds like a perfectly legitimate reason to me. Wouldn’t you agree, Kaz?”

“Where were you, Boomer? You were supposed to be looking after Bridget.”

“It wasn’t her fault,” Bridget intervened. “She was called away for a drug test. Is... is Juice going to be okay?”

“No idea, but on the plus side, if she survives, at least she’ll leave you alone. Where’s the shiv stashed?”

“I wiped it clean and planted it in Stella Radic’s cell. The thing is, I found this under her mattress.” Boomer held up a mobile in a clear plastic bag. “Dumbarsed bitches didn’t have a password on it.”

“Well done, Boomer.” Kaz snatched the mobile off her and quickly scanned through the messages. “Even though Ferguson doesn’t mention her own name, she’s given explicit instructions not to kill Bridget until she’s ready to dispose of her.” Kaz smiled for the first time in several days. “This means we have just eliminated Ferguson’s only way of contacting Juice. We need to get a message out to Franky so she won’t cave to Ferguson’s blackmail attempts. What’s Franky’s number, Bridget?”

**** **** ****

Franky opened the bedroom door without making a noise and quietly tiptoed across the lounge room floor in the dark, carrying her boots in her hands. She reached for the front door, when a loud _twang_ stopped her in her tracks and when she flicked on the light switch, Franky was taken aback to discover the dagger she had been playing with earlier, was now embedded in the wooden door three inches above her head. She swallowed hard. “You missed, Red.”

“I never miss. Where do you think you’re going?”

“I know it’s a school night and I’m up way past my bedtime, but there’s something I gotta do first. Promise I’ll be back before sunrise, Mum.”

“Make sure you bring back a litre of milk.” Bea rolled over onto her side, trying to make herself comfortable on the tiny lounge suite. “And turn the light off before you leave.”

**** **** ****

Bridget awoke from her deep slumber to find Franky looking down at her from above.

“Good morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

“Now there’s an exquisite sight to behold. What time is it?” Bridget craned her neck up in the dark and met Franky’s soft lips with her own.

“Put it this way, the sun has yet to rise.”

Bridget didn’t mind the early wake-up call, and her hands wandered down to Franky’s waist and pulled the white singlet upwards and over Franky’s head. “You’re all hot and sweaty.”

“Just came back from a run and I’m starving.” Franky tore the quilt off Bridget, noticing the lack of bedclothes. “It appears breakfast is now being served. Think I’ll start with a glass of sweet nectar.” Franky delved between Bridget’s opened legs, kissing her way slowly up the inner thigh.

“Well, nutritionists agree that breakfast is the most important meal of the-“ A long moan escaped from Bridget’s lips, preventing her from finishing the sentence, as Franky used her tongue to separate the folds and swirled the tip around the nub. “Baby, as much as I want you to continue, Mother Nature calls.”

“Understandable, but before you go, I’ve something to show you.” Franky leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp. Instead of seeing Franky’s unblemished face, Bridget now witnessed peeling strips of bloodied and rotted skin, and her once-toned torso swollen and bruised. Upon closer inspection, she noticed several jagged ribs piercing out through Franky’s chest; the cavity within now barren from where her heart had once been.

“It’s okay, Gidge. It’s not your fault…”

Bridget woke with a startle, as the unmistakable sounds of metal gates grinding against their railings echoed throughout H Block. _It’s midnight, the witching hour_ , Bridget thought to herself as she tried fruitlessly to fluff her flattened pillow. _The officers must be conducting the first of their twice-nightly checks._

By this time each night, an eerie silence would befall the prison, as the usual moans and cries were gradually overcome by exhaustion. Sometimes that silence would be punctured by the sound of some poor soul who would awaken suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat and screaming in fear. Bridget had been taught by her lecturers many years ago to believe most long-term inmates eventually adapted and no longer suffered from this fate.

_But they were all wrong._

She knew firsthand that the worst nightmares don’t always come at night.

The door to her cell creaked open, and Bridget saw the unmistakable silhouette of a person standing in the doorway. She was about to shout out to alert her fellow inmates, but the officer quickly stepped into the small beam of moonlight from the window where she could be seen, and put a finger up to her own lips to silence her. She then picked up the dressing gown from the end of the bed and handed it to Bridget.

_Should I go? What if it’s a trap?_

Kaz’s words rang in her ears: _We don’t know who we can trust, and that goes for the screws. If anyone visits you in the middle of the night, make a shitload of noise and we’ll come running. Just don’t leave your cell under any circumstances without us knowing_.

Bridget was about to break that golden rule, but only because it was her trusted confidante, Vera Bennett. No words were exchanged, as Bridget followed Vera quietly down the labyrinth of corridors. _What does Vera want? Am I in trouble?_

Vera used her swipe card to admit them both through to the protection unit - a place where high-risk women were segregated from the gen-pop for their own safety.

“Why am I here?” Bridget whispered. “I made it very clear I didn’t want to go into protection.”

Vera remained silent and continued down the long corridor, past the cells filled with sleeping occupants, until she arrived at an empty unit.

“This area is still under construction, so there are no cameras installed yet. You can talk without fear of being seen or heard. I’ll be back in two hours to return you to your cell.”

Vera locked the gate behind her, leaving Bridget alone and confused in the small communal area. The empty block was a carbon-copy of H1, except there were exposed plumbing fixtures, no furniture, and half-painted teal-coloured walls. All the doors to the bedrooms were closed, except the one nearest to the kitchenette where Bridget could see a dim light shining out from the room.

“Hello?” Bridget said nervously, as she looked around for the panic button, but saw only loose wiring hanging from the wall, waiting for it to be installed.

A familiar face appeared from behind the opened bedroom door. “Didn’t Boomer ever teach you not to walk around the prison at night on your own?”

Relief washed over Bridget’s face, and she broke out into the biggest smile she could muster. “Franky!” She ran to her and threw her arms around Franky, feeling her body squirm. “I’m so sorry, baby, I forgot about your injuries.”

“The injuries have healed, but I’m still a bit sore from yesterday’s impromptu workout session. That said, all is forgiven as long as you kiss me.”

“What are you doing here? How did you get in here?”

Franky chuckled. “Gonna die of old age waiting for that kiss, aren’t I?”

Bridget kissed her gingerly on the lips, careful not to touch her anywhere else for fear of hurting her again.

“Hey, I’m not that sore. Just don’t tackle me, okay?”

This time Bridget happily obliged, enjoying the sensation as their tongues entwined; the tingling sensation of skin against skin heightened by the long absence with no physical contact.

Franky smacked her lips. “Mmmm, much better, but fortunately, we have two hours to perfect it.”

Bridget could not contain her tears any longer. “Hey,” Franky said as she brought her in close. “I’m okay. Everything’s gonna be okay, my sweet Gidge.”

“Is this another dream threatening to become a nightmare?” She wept into Franky’s chest. “Because I love you so much that even in my nightmares I can feel when you’re hurting.”

“If it is, I promise to wake you up before that happens.” Franky stroked Bridget’s back until the tears eased. “I hear you got Juice off your case.”

Bridget looked up at Franky inquisitively. “Is that what Vera believes?”

“Yeah, but obviously she can’t prove it, nor does she want to. You have a loyal ally in Vera.”

“Is Juice going to be okay?”

“Does it matter? The bitch had it coming and I only wish I had done the deed instead of you.” Franky noticed the look of concern on Bridget’s face. “After all she did to you and you’re still worried for her welfare? You can’t help put everyone else first, can you? Even those who intentionally harm you.”

“Is it wrong that I don’t want her to die?”

“No, it’s not. You have a beautiful and caring nature about you, and it’s one of the many reasons I fell in love with you.” Franky wiped away the wet stains from Bridget’s face with her thumb. “To help ease your conscience, Vera told me Juice will survive and once she’s recuperated, she’ll be transferred to another prison. The rest of the boys are doing time in the slot after the screws found the shiv in their unit, and will then be moved to J Block.”

Bridget let out a sigh of relief. “Thanks to Boomer. At least we have one less crew to deal with now.”

“Not to mention we’re wasting valuable time talking about that tongue-less cow.” Franky led Bridget by the hand into the cell, sitting her down on the single bed. “I tried to make a reservation at the Hotel Windsor, but they were booked out. At least Vera made the bed for us, though.”

“Now I know this definitely isn’t a dream, or we would be at the Windsor,” Bridget chuckled. She held her hand out and gently traced around the small scab on Franky’s lower lip with her index finger. “You’ve experienced so much pain at the hands of Ferguson.”

“It will heal,” Franky reassured her as she kissed Bridget’s wandering fingers. “The only pain I can’t mend, is in my heart from missing you so much. I love you, Gidge, and I hate not being able to protect you from harm.”

“When I worked at Wentworth, I used to think it was the worst feeling in the world to leave you every night. But I was wrong. It’s much worse being on the other side of the bars and not knowing when and if I’ll ever see you again.”

“Told you previously, you can’t get rid of me that easy.”

“I don’t understand... how did you organise this midnight rendezvous?”

“Would you believe I broke in? Yep, tunnelled under two fences, crawled on my hands and knees through the drain pipes and exited out of the toilet bowl.”

Bridget punched Franky’s uninjured shoulder. “Forever the joker, aren’t you?”

“Hey, you’ve got quite an iron fist there,” Franky laughed, rubbing her shoulder.

“Boomer and Ruby have me working the circuit every day.”

“Yeah? How many packets of Monte Carlos did Boomer con out of you?”

“Four.”

“Four?” Franky sniggered. “Ouch! You got ripped off, Gidge. Two at the very most.”

“So why are you avoiding my question?”

“The truth? When I was locked up, it was always a fantasy of mine that you would visit me during the night for wild sex.” Franky leaned in close, nipping at her throat. “You couldn’t come to me, so I traded off a favour with Vera so I could come to you.”

Bridget threw her head back and moaned. “Are you ever serious?”

“I’m not joking.” Franky placed a hand on Bridget’s left breast and squeezed it. “The nights are long and lonely when you’re locked up and horny.”

“I know,” Bridget replied.

“I bet you do.”

“If this really is a dream, then I never want to wake up.” Bridget lifted both Franky’s jumper and shirt over her head and discarded them on the floor. “No bra?”

“Figured there was no point wearing one tonight.” Franky leaned back and let out an elongated moan as Bridget cupped her breast in her hand and swirled her tongue around the nipple, gently pulling at the bud between her teeth until it was fully erect. She heard the distinct sound of a zip opening and felt the warmth of a soft hand as it slid down her pants and between her legs, the fingertips now rubbing through her mound. Her heart pounded, and she swallowed hard, grinding into Bridget’s hand. “Did I mentioned we have two hours?”

“That’s not nearly enough time for what I want to do to you.” Bridget broke free and stood up before her, stripping off both her dressing gown and nightie. She then used the ball of her foot to push Franky on her back. “You won’t be needing these,” she said as she slipped Franky’s jeans off. It was then she noticed the underwear and burst into laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

“I can’t believe you still have your lucky undies! They must be ready for the bin.”

“No way! And given I’ve managed to see you tonight and we’re about to do the hanky panky, I’d say it justifies the label of being lucky.”

“That’s true.” Bridget scooted between Franky and the wall, spooning her side on. “You’re about to get lucky.” Franky anticipated the next move and raised her bended leg to allow better access as Bridget reached over the hip and downwards to continue what she had started earlier. She kissed and pulled at Franky’s ear. “I need to taste you, baby. _Now_.”

“I hate to keep a lady waiting.” Franky reversed herself so she was facing Bridget’s feet and eased herself over Bridget’s face. Bridget immediately clasped both her hands around Franky’s arse to bring her in closer so she could swirl the point of her tongue around the folds, blowing on the nub. Franky leaned forward and placed her hand between Bridget’s legs, stroking her wet pussy, but with her own excitement building, she couldn’t maintain it for long. ‘Fuck!” She shouted, grinding faster against Bridget’s opened mouth and arching her back as Bridget slapped her arse hard, tipping her over the edge.

It took a full two minutes for Franky’s heavy breathing to return to normal and find her voice again. “Did you just spank my arse? Cause my next question is, what the hell has Boomer been teaching you?”

Bridget nodded. “Did it hurt?”

“No, why?”

“Your new tattoo.”

“Oh, that... actually, it should have hurt, huh?”

“I assume it’s a cute combination of both our names – either that, or the tattooist spelt your name wrong.”

“Don’t ask!” Franky burst into a fit of uncontrolled laughter. “It’s a long story and I promise I’ll tell you over that candlelit dinner and an open roaring fire.”

“Remember what happened last time you laid hands on a candle?”

“Hey, I didn’t hear any objections from you.” Franky licked her lips. “Now it’s my turn…”

**** **** ****

Bridget sat on the edge of the bed, wrapped in the beige quilt, admiring Franky’s body as she slipped into her tight black jeans. “You were serious earlier about trading a favour with Vera for a night with me. What was it?”

“It was a joke.”

“Behind every joke lies an ounce of truth.”

“Give it a miss, okay?” Franky pulled the shirt and jumper over her head.

“Don’t shut me out, baby. We’ve both been through so much shit together.”

“We have a plan, but I can’t tell you.” Franky sat back down and tied the laces on her boots.

“We? Who’s we?”

“Did I say we? I meant me.”

“Now you’re covering for somebody. Is it Vera?”

Franky sighed. There was no way Bridget would relent. “Nup. Vera has too much at stake to lose.”

“Shit, Franky! You’re thinking of killing Ferguson!”

“I have little choice, don’t I?”

“What type of answer is that?”

“The type of answer that if I don’t give Ferguson the name of the person who tried to kill her, then she’ll kill you, me, Will _and_ Vera.”

“You can start by taking me out of the equation.” Franky looked over at her, confused. “That mobile we used to text you was also Juice’s phone, which Boomer found in Stella Radic’s cell. The good news is, Ferguson can no longer contact any of the other inmates to find a suitable replacement.”

Franky let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Booms!”

“So now you can go to the police and show them the messages on the mobile.”

“The phone’s not enough proof on its own, and by the time I do get actual proof, Ferguson may have coerced another inmate to kill you. I’m not going to risk losing you.” Franky waited for Bridget’s protests, but there weren’t any. She watched closely as Bridget lifted herself off the bed and walked over to gaze out the window. “You can’t see out a frosted-glass window. I’ve tried, but it doesn’t work.”

“I know Will attempted to kill Joan Ferguson with the help of Jake, but did Vera…”

“Have anything to do with it? Nup.” Bridget seemed relieved to hear Vera wasn’t directly involved. “It was all Jake’s plan, but Will did the deed. Or so he thought he did. Vera only found about it later when they confided in her, and she’s the reason Will’s in hiding.”

“What if you tell Ferguson it was Jake Stewart?” Bridget suggested. “He’s already dead so it won’t matter.”

“One guess who killed him?”

“Ferguson? No, it can’t be. It was an accident and toxicology reports confirmed he drove under the influence of drugs.”

“Ferguson fed him the lethal dose. Although he didn’t kill her, she disposed of him because he had a hand in it. She already suspects Vera’s involvement and with Mr J now missing in action, that’s all the confirmation Ferguson needs.”

“But this places Vera in the line of fire.”

“Not yet. Ferguson wants Will first.”

“Oh, Franky, what are you going to do?”

“I told you, I’ve got a plan.”

“Right. Who is this other person? Have I met them?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Please, Gidge, just trust me on this. In the meantime, promise me you’ll stick close to Boomer and the girls? Listen to them and don’t do anything which might endanger your life, because I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to you.”

“I love you, Franky. Promise you’ll come back to me?”

Vera cleared her throat from outside of the cell. “I’m sorry, Franky, but it’s time to go.”

“I’ll go one better.” Franky stuffed her lucky pair of underwear into Bridget’s hands. “These are strictly a loan, understand? I want them back when I greet you at the front gate upon your release, you cheeky little minx.”


	10. Fight Club

**_Round 1:_ **

Franky arrived at the apartment with two hours to spare. “Hi, honey, I’m home! Did you miss me? I remembered the moo juice.” She was rewarded with silence and as soon as she entered the kitchen, Franky spotted a USB stick on the kitchen table with a note attached.

_Dear Franky,_

_After you left last night, I paid a quick visit to the lovely managing arsehole who owns the motel where Bridget stayed. Asked him nicely if he had any CCTV footage and miraculously, he found a copy which he forgot he had in his possession._ _The footage on the stick will clear Bridget’s name, and I’ve emailed you a copy as a backup._

Franky sniggered to herself at the thought of Bea’s idea of playing nice, like tying the guy to a chair and holding the survival knife to his testicles, in exchange for the footage.

_Sorry to dump you like this, but I need to fight this battle on my own, and you have to get on with your new life with Bridget. If I were still a believer of destiny, then I guess you could say we both have our own fate to fulfil._

_Live your life and be happy._

_Your friend forever,_

_Red._

_PS: The tattoo isn’t real._

“Fuck, Red, you’re a real piece of work!” Franky didn’t know whether to be annoyed at being left behind, or relieved that Bea obtained the required evidence to free Bridget. She sat at the kitchen table and inserted the USB stick into the laptop and opened the file. The picture flickered to life and Franky watched closely as a man, whom she presumed to be the motel manager, stood behind a small counter in the office reading a porn magazine, which he quickly dumped the moment a mature-looking woman walked through the door. Franky immediately recognised her as being Joan Ferguson, despite disguising herself with a short blonde wig.

_“May I help you?” The manager asked her._

_“I’d like a room for one night.”_

_“That will be $110.00 and I’ll need to see your driver’s licence.”_

_Joan opened Bridget’s purse and handed over the licence. “How much to buy an alibi and put the room under this name?”_

_The manager held up the ID and scrutinised it. “Bridget Westfall?”_

Franky paused the picture and magnified the shot of Bridget’s licence. “Gotcha, you bitch!” She pressed ‘Play’ once more.

_Ferguson pushed three small bundles of fifty dollar notes across the counter. “There’s five thousand, which should cover any discrepancies.”_

_The manager looked down at the pile of cash before him. “That will buy you one night. An alibi will cost you a lot more, especially if it involves the police.”_

_“Of course.” Ferguson faked a smile at him. “Here’s another twenty thousand for the alibi, and an extra five thousand on top to give me the recording from that CCTV camera. Feel free to take a photocopy of the license as proof to show the police should they request it. Now, can I assume that will suffice for any inconvenience caused? Because I would detest to come back and pay you another visit.”_

Franky watched with interest as Joan opened Bridget’s handbag to show the manager the contents inside, and judging by his concerned facial reaction, she assumed it to be the weapon Joan later used to kill Taylor Hamsley.

_“You assumed correct. I never saw you if the cops start asking questions. Here’s the key to your room and you can park the car out front. It’s been a pleasure doing business with you, Miss Westfall.”_

The footage came to an abrupt end, and Franky sat in disbelief. Bea had saved Bridget from spending the next twenty years behind bars and was about to face off Ferguson for a rematch. However, this time, there could only be one survivor.

“There’s no fucking way I’m letting you do this on your own, Red.”

Franky removed Detective Weller’s card from her wallet and addressed an envelope to him. Inside the anonymous note were details of where police would find Joan Ferguson’s body along with the evidence to clear Bridget’s name, deciding it best to drop it off on the way to the meetup point, in case anything were to happen to her. She closed the file and was about to pull the USB from the laptop, when she felt the tip of cold metal pressed into the back of her head.

“Give me that USB stick.”

Franky instinctively slammed her fist down on the stick, snapping the connector in half.

“You stupid bitch!” He pistol whipped her across the back of her head as a warning not to mess with him again. “Get up.”

The crack temporarily brought stars to Franky’s eyes, but she still lifted herself slowly off the kitchen chair and turned to face her intruder. “The black balaclava suits you.” She winced as she touched the back of her head, noticing blood on her hand. “I’m thinking you’re Stalker, right?”

“Where’s Firebird?”

“I don’t know. By the time I’d returned, she had gone.”

Stalker aimed his gun at her. “I won’t ask again.”

“It’s true. Read the note on the table.”

“Back up against the counter.” Stalker continued to aim the gun at Franky as he read the note. He sifted through other papers left on the small table, noticing Franky’s mobile and pocketing it. Stalker then held up the envelope and pulled out the letter to the detective, revealing the location. “What do we have here?”

“This!” Franky picked up the cast iron frypan lying on the stove behind her and smashed it across his face. She didn’t wait around to witness the fallout and made for the door, bolting down the fire escape and out onto the back laneway, lifting herself into a large industrial dumpster and covering herself in food scraps from the nearby restaurants. With her ear pressed against the wall, she listened as Stalker came down the stairs. He seemed to hesitate, like he was deciding which direction to take, opting to run down the laneway towards the main road. Time was now against Franky. With no transportation to get to the destination to warn Bea that Stalker was on his way, Franky ditched the dumpster and ran across the laneway, climbing the high wooden fence and landing into a neighbour’s backyard. She smiled to herself as her rebellious youth of yesteryear kicked in upon spotting a car parked in the driveway.

“Let’s see if I can remember how to hot-wire one of these babies.”

**_Round 2:_ **

From the safety of the rooftop, Stalker lay in wait, his long-range sniper rifle attached to a small tripod which rested upon the brick ledge. The infrared scope he fastened to the rifle ensured perfect night vision, and from this angle, one clear shot would be all it took to kill his protégé. What he didn’t expect was the sharp pain to the back of his head.

Franky stood above him with a plank of wood in her hands. “Special delivery just for you, fuckface!” She took another swing at him, but Stalker was prepared this time and kicked out at her just below the knee, sending her crashing forward to the ground.

Stalker easily cracked the plank of wood over his knee, discarding the pieces aside as a mere inconvenience. “I see Firebird has been teaching you some tactics. Even so, I have a score to settle with you.”

Franky crawled on her hands and knees, backing up against the wall near the rifle. “I don’t think so, Stinker.”

Stalker snorted at Franky’s childish name-calling. He reached for the pistol in his belt, but felt a blade pressed against his Adam’s apple from behind, and allowed himself a knowing smirk. “Are you going to kill your old instructor, Firebird? I taught you everything you know.”

“But not everything you know, right Stalker? Because an excellent teacher never reveals all their secrets, in case the student outshines them.” Bea disarmed him and pushed him towards the ledge, near where Franky sat on the ground. “Fortunately, I’ve picked up a few new moves since we last met.”

“Killing me will not stop others who will follow, for you betrayed the assassin’s code.”

“Then I’ll kill them, too. Your problem is you’ve always underestimated me and it’s why you’ll remain second best.”

Stalker lunged at her, but halted at the stabbing pain to his foot. Franky released her grip from the small knife she had retrieved from her cleavage and plunged through his shoe, the distraction long enough for Bea to charge and push him over the ledge, watching as his body smashed onto the stoned laneway two stories below.

Bea helped Franky to her feet, scrunching up her nose at the smell. “Phew! You stink! Have you been rolling in shit?”

“Something like that. I’ll take a shower later and scrub off that fake tattoo.”

“What are you doing here, Franky?”

“Boomer found a mobile that Juice and her crew were using to communicate with Ferguson, which means she can’t contact them. And with the CCTV footage you scored along with the mobile, it should be more than enough to convict Ferguson. It means you don’t have to confront her!”

“Didn’t I tell you to stay at home?”

“Thanks Franky, for saving my arse. Sure, Red. Anytime.”

“I could’ve handled Stalker on my own.”

“Yeah? Your friendly professor dropped in not long after you left. If it hadn’t been for me, you wouldn’t have known he was up on the roof.”

“And how did he find out?” Franky had a look of guilt upon her face. “Besides, I was here earlier casing out the area and saw him arrive. You need to go home so I can finish readying for Ferguson’s arrival.”

“But why risk dying when there’s no need to fight the Freak?”

“Because sending Ferguson back to prison is not an option. She dies tonight. End of story.”

“Okay, then we work together and finish Ferguson off.”

“Don’t you get it? This is my fight, not yours. If I have to break your fucking legs to stop you following me, then I will.”

Franky heard a loud moan and looked over the ledge. “Yeah, well Stalker’s not dead and Ferguson will be here soon. Let me help you.”

Bea checked her watch. _Fuck! Fifteen minutes ‘til showdown!_ “I’m sorry, Franky.”

“What for?”

“For this.” Bea clenched her fist and smashed Franky hard in the face, knocking her out with a king hit. “I need to finish this on my own. You don’t need another death on your conscience.”

Bea ran down the stairs and out onto the laneway to Stalker, noting his spine and limbs positioned at unnatural angles. She removed his balaclava, the blood oozing from his nose and mouth indicating severe internal injuries. “Can you talk?”

Stalker swallowed hard. “I can’t feel my body. You couldn’t even do the job right.”

“Maybe you’re just too stupid to die on impact.” Bea dragged Stalker’s heavy body out of sight behind a dumpster and crouched alongside him. “What do you reckon, Stalker? We go back a long way.”

“From the moment I saw you, I knew you’d kill me.”

“Are you related to Jacs Holt, by any chance?” Bea chuckled. “She said something similar to me many years ago. She was my first kill.”

“You never forget your first. You soon forget all the others as you learn to justify their deaths.”

Bea nodded. “If you knew I would kill you, why did you come for me in the first place?”

Stalker gave her a weak smile. “After twenty years, I’m tired of all this blood on my hands.”

“Kill or be killed. It’s not the first time I’ve been in this situation.”

“What’s your deal, Firebird? Why are you a ruthless killer like me?”

“It’s Bea. My name is Bea Smith, and I didn’t ask for this wretched life.” Bea checked her watch once more. “My deal is I didn’t ask for my husband to use me as his punching bag, and I sure as hell didn’t ask for my only child to be murdered. Society created the killer you see before you.”

“You can’t mend your past, but you can set the path to your future. This mentor’s last lesson to his past student is don’t become like him.”

“Franky would agree with you on that.”

“Your friend has the makings of a good assassin. If it wasn’t for her, you’d be dead.”

“Nah, she's shit at obeying orders. And I knew you’d be coming for me, but you stuffed up and came too early. I can’t die yet because I still have one more job to complete.”

“My money’s on you, all I ask is you don’t let me suffer too long.”

“Sorry, Stalker, I need you fresh.”

Stalker broke out into another weak smile. “A setup, eh? You always were a cunning bitch, Firebird.”

Bea stood up and pulled on her balaclava. “I learnt from the best, and it wasn’t you. She’ll find that out tonight, too.”

**_Round 3:_ **

Joan entered the narrow blue-stoned laneway with confidence, her hand wrapped tightly around her mobile. There would be no need for weapons, for she had proven to everyone she had ever met that she was intellectually superior and capable of defending herself in any situation. No, all that she required was the use of her mobile phone to kill Westfall, before using her bare hands to snap both Doyle’s and Jackson’s necks.

_Then I’ll hunt down Vera._

She had it all figured out, for her mind had calculated every possible scenario.

_No one can kill me. They tried... and failed._

She spotted Franky standing in the middle of the laneway – minus Will Jackson – like she was challenging her to an old-fashioned shootout. Joan showed no fear, for she held the advantage of two against one, with her father, the one man she idolised, standing alongside her for support. His words of wisdom filled her mind.

_“Do you see that, Joan? How dare she defy our orders! It is your duty to punish her for insolence!”_

“Where’s Jackson?” Joan called out.

“Will won’t be here tonight.”

Joan spotted the glint of the knife’s blade in the gloved hand and frowned at the unfamiliar voice. “You’re not Doyle. Do I know you?”

“Yes, but from another lifetime.”

“I demand you remove that balaclava and reveal yourself!”

“You’re in no position to make demands.”

“Do not mess with me,” Joan threatened in a low, menacing voice. “This is not your show.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Freak. I’m here to correct a mistake I made years ago by letting you live.”

For the first time in many years, Joan felt unnerved by this stranger’s superior confidence which matched her own, expecting them to make the first move. Instead, the hooded person just stood there, waiting. “It hardly seems fair. You have a weapon, whereas I have none.”

“Then I’ll let you make the first move.”

Joan held the mobile up with her right hand, her thumb poised over the send button. “Westfall is dead.”

“Go ahead... press it.”

“It’s done. She’s dead.” Before Joan had the chance to lower her arm, her mind registered a sharp pain through her gloved hand, and her reflexes automatically forced her to drop the mobile to the ground. Joan slowly lifted her hand up to her face, inspecting the blade which had penetrated through the back of her hand, with the pointed end sticking out of her palm. Joan refused to acknowledge the pain.

Ivan pushed her with his contradicting words from the last time she confronted Franky in the laneway. _“One cannot always contain the beast within. To win, sometimes one needs to lose control.”_

“But Father,” Joan protested under her breath. “You've always maintained that losing control is for the weak.”

_“Are you questioning me, Joan? You know what you must do. Don’t dishonour the Ferguson name.”_

“Yes, sir.” An evil smirk spread across her face. “Thank you for the weapon.”

“Never let it be said that I didn’t give you a fair chance to defend yourself.”

Joan charged at Bea; her injured hand raised high and ready to use the newly acquired weapon to her advantage. Bea threw her arm up to prevent the head-on assault, their faces so close to one another that they could each see the whites of one another’s eyes. Joan used her height advantage to tower over Bea, and for a few seconds, she appeared to be winning the test of pure strength as she pushed the smaller woman downwards; her back arching at such an angle that Joan eagerly anticipated the sound of a breaking spine. Bea wrapped her hand around the back of Joan’s head and brought it towards her, smashing her forehead into Joan’s face, knocking several front teeth out. A quick punch to the chest bone sent Joan colliding with the ground, gasping for air.

The temporary lull allowed Bea to stride over and flip Joan onto her back, sitting astride her chest. “You don’t get to die until I say so,” she said as she wrapped both hands around Joan’s throat.

With Joan’s air supply cut off, she frantically reached out her left hand to push Bea off her, as she swung her injured hand sideways, aiming the still-embedded knife to collide with Bea’s temple. Bea released her grip to defend against the counterattack and in doing so copped a punch to the side of the ribs. Despite the pain, she gripped both hands around Joan’s wrist to hold back the knife, and once more it became a battle of strength as she summoned her aching muscles to push the knife down to Joan’s neck, creating a small slit through the surface of the aged skin. Tiny droplets of blood trickled down Joan’s neck and onto the surface beneath her.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Joan demanded. “Answer me!”

“I’m your nemesis, Freak, and I’ve come back from the dead to finish the job properly.”

Joan’s eyes widened with fear when she realised this was the one scenario she hadn’t considered. “No!” She shouted, as she reached up and pulled the balaclava off Bea’s head. “That’s impossible! I killed you! I watched you die!”

“You can’t kill me.” Bea stood up and pulled the dagger out of Joan’s hand and brought it down, stabbing her straight through the heart, twisting the blade clockwise and splintering the ribs. “This is for all those you tortured and made it out alive... and for those who didn’t survive.” Blood splattered across her face, but Bea didn’t flinch. “I want to be the last image you’ll ever see, before the Devil takes your twisted and fucked-up soul to Hell.”

But the last image Joan saw was not of Bea, but of her own father. The look on his face expressed bitter disappointment, for his only child had failed him greatly. It was then she realised Ivan was her only true nemesis from the day she was born.

Bea removed the dagger and plunged it further into the dying organ, twisting it again and again, watching with immense satisfaction as the life drained out of her nemesis.

“You lose, Freak.”

Bea dropped the lifeless body to the ground and pulled Stalker’s pistol from the back of her pants and marched over to the dumpster where she had left him earlier.

“Time’s up, Stalker. Any last words?”

Stalker smiled at her. “Fuck you, Firebird. I like Bea Smith, better.”

“Same here.” Bea aimed the pistol and fired three shots into him.

Franky staggered out into the laneway carrying Stalker’s sniper rifle with both hands. “Fuck me!” Franky said as she surveyed the warzone around her, watching as Bea placed the dagger Joan had used into Stalker’s right hand. “Pleased to see you’re still kicking on, but I still owe you for slugging me out of the fight.”

“You’re welcome.” Bea collected the rifle from Franky. “Are you okay?”

“Aside from being shot in the shoulder, used as a crash test dummy by Ferguson, you and Mr J, a splitting headache courtesy of your mentor, and knocked out by Ninja Bea? Sure, I’m okay and happy as a pig in shit.”

“At least you’re not dead. I’ll ditch this rifle and your flick knife where the cops won’t find it.”

Franky gasped and pointed to Bea's arm. “You’re bleeding!”

Bea dropped the rifle to the ground and inspected the stab wound on her forearm. “Here’s one battle scar I won’t be covering up with any tattoos.” Bea handed over Franky’s mobile. “I found this on Stalker. Did you touch him at all?”

Franky shook her head. “Nup. Just the knife I used to stab him in the foot, a plank of wood, and his rifle.”

“Which I’ll dispose shortly. The last thing you need, is the police finding your fingerprints at the scene.”

Franky approached Joan Ferguson’s lifeless body and cautiously prodded it with her foot, half expecting her to come back to life. The glassy eyes which stared back at her, made her uncomfortable, and she jumped in fright when Bea placed a hand upon her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, she’s definitely dead.”

“I know, but I’m curious... what made her this way? I mean... why did she choose this path? Did she have a choice, or...”

“Don’t try to make sense of it all. People like her are wired differently.”

“What happens now?”

“I planted Stalker’s pistol on Ferguson to ensure she’s pinned for his murder. Not that the police will identify him, because like me, he doesn’t exist. Forensics will conclude they killed one another for unknown reasons.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Vera and her unborn baby will be safe, Will can sleep peacefully at night, Bridget will be exonerated from all charges thanks to the CCTV footage, and you two can live happily ever after.”

“Try again.”

Bea sighed heavily. “You heard Stalker.”

Franky threw her arms around Bea and hugged her close, her quivering voice giving way to tears. “I’m never going to see you again, am I?”

“With a price on my head, I don’t think it’s wise to stick around.”

“I’ve just got you back and now I’m going to lose you again.” Franky wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’ll miss ya. Can’t believe I never tried to get into your pants in Wentworth – must be losing my magic touch!”

“You are, but I promise it will be our little secret.” Bea pulled away, embarrassed at the awkward outburst of emotion. “Besides, if I stay any longer, you’ll wind up with a permanent Branky tattoo on your arse.”

Franky chuckled. “Yeah, thanks for that. How can I ever repay you? Is there anything I can do for you?”

“I want to visit Debbie’s grave one last time, but there is something I require after I disappear, and I’ll need your help.”

“I thought you weren’t a believer in destiny?”

“Yeah, well... both Bea and Firebird were wrong.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franky says thanks to Joftieloco for letting her steal... er, borrow the line, ‘Ninja Bea’.
> 
> Merry Christmas to all, and for those who don't believe in Santa, there's good reason not to.
> 
> Thurman: "You are really Santa, right?"  
> Willie: "No, I'm an accountant. I wear this fucking thing (Santa outfit) as a fashion statement, alright?"
> 
> Taken from 'Bad Santa'. (2003)
> 
> NEXT UP: The conclusion to Nemesis.


	11. Unfinished Business

“Where’s Bridget?” Kaz asked Boomer, who was seated at the table checking out one of Ruby’s boxing magazines.

“Dunno.” Boomer tore a page out and shoved it in her pocket. “Smiles took her to see Miss Bennett about fifteen minutes ago. Why?”

Kaz showed her Juice’s mobile. “I’ve just received a message from Franky. It reads, _All done_. _We have enough evidence, so get rid of the mobile to ensure you’re not implicated_.”

“No shit, aye? Are they sure this time?”

“Hey you guys!” Ruby shouted out. “Check this out!” The crew of H1 gathered around the flat screen tv in the common area to watch the morning news bulletin.

_“Two people have been found dead in a laneway in Melbourne’s inner east, after what appears to be a fight to the death. Confirmed dead is escapee, Joan Ferguson, who suffered fatal stab wounds to the heart. The middle-aged man has yet to be identified, and police are treating both deaths as suspicious.”_

“Fuck me!” Boomer exclaimed. “It’s true! The big bad bitch is dead!”

_“On a related note, additional evidence has surfaced in the murder of Taylor Hamsley, with video footage proving Joan Ferguson being responsible for her death. At this stage, police are investigating if there is a link between the two cases.”_

“Gee, you think they’re related?” Allie replied sarcastically.

Bridget rushed into the common area of H1. “I’ve been cleared of all charges!” She announced excitedly to everyone. “I’m free!”

Kaz was the first to offer her congratulations. “When are you being released?”

“Lucky Franky!” Boomer approached and slapped Bridget hard on the back. “Go easy on her, aye?”

“Boomer!” Liz scolded her. “Ignore her, love, Boomer’s mind is in the gutter... _again_.”

“What? Oh, hang on, that’s not what I meant! Nah, I meant Twiggy can keep Franky in line with all the stuff we taught her, aye?”

“I know what you meant, Boomer.” Bridget looked upon everyone with fondness. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you all for helping me to survive in here.”

“Just make sure you never come back, unless you’re visiting us,” said Allie.

“Yeah, and bring Monte Carlos,” Boomer chipped in. “And pics of Fev... and more of those boxing magazines, cause those guys are freakin' hot with their bulging... muscles!”

Linda Miles appeared at the gate. “Hurry up, Westfall. There’s a heap of paperwork to complete before being released.”

“You’re leaving now?” Ruby asked her. “But we haven’t even organised a farewell party.”

“Yep, I’ve just enough time to say goodbye.” Bridget took a step back, ready to follow Linda out into the corridor for the last time, but changed her mind and gestured for a group hug.

“Awww, now look what you’ve done - I’ve got something in me eye.” Boomer sniffed, wiping away a tear. “You’re alright, Twiggy. I’m gonna miss havin’ you around the joint.”

“See?” Ruby laughed. “I told you Booms is a big sook!”

“C’mon, Westfall,” Linda prompted her once more. “I haven’t got all day!”

“How many times do I need to tell you to fuck off, before you get the hint, Linda?” Bridget replied. “I’m saying goodbye to my family, and if you have a problem with that, I’ll be happy to serve another week in the slot for breaking your nose again.”

**** **** ****

Franky greeted Bridget on the opposite side of the front gate with outstretched arms, lifting her up into a bear hug. “I’m never letting you out of my sight. Ever!”

Bridget relished the physical contact without fear of being reprimanded by an officer, allowing Franky to smother her with kisses. “God, I’ve missed you, baby!”

“I can’t wait to get you home!” Franky said as her lips found Bridget’s.

“And do what?”

“Well... you can start by giving me a back rub, then progress to a foot massage. Cook me up one of your famous lasagnes.” Franky placed her down and quickly held up both hands in surrender. “Sucked in! Do you have something for me?”

“Yeah, but I’m wearing them. Got a problem with that?”

“Are you challenging me to a fight, Westfall?”

“So what if I am?”

“I reckon I’d lose this time in. You’re a lean, mean, fighting machine!”

“Thanks to the girls in H1.” Bridget sighed heavily, turning back to take one last look at the place she called home for the last month. “I’m alive because of them.”

“Why do I feel there’s more to it than that?”

“Do you remember when you accused me of not knowing what it’s like to be on the wrong side of the bars?”

“Yeah, I still regret mentioning those spiteful words.”

“But you were right. That type of experience can’t be acquired from any textbook. I finally understand what it’s like, because it’s not just about losing your freedom, but also survival - not just physically, but mentally, too.”

“We both survived, thanks to each other.”

“That’s because we never gave up on one another. I love you, Franky, and it’s time to ditch this shithole and start our lives together.”

“Not quite yet.” Franky spotted Vera and Will as they walked through the front gate and waited for them to catch up.

“Is this my farewell party?” Bridget joked.

“Sort of, but without the booze and strippers.” Franky led the group across the road to a nearby side street, where a person clad in black leathers and helmet was leaning against a motorcycle. “There’s someone I want you to meet, cause she’s the reason I’m alive and you’re free.”

The biker extended out her gloved hand, and Bridget shook it with caution. “Nice to see you again, Miss Westfall. Just make sure you keep this little shit in line and out of prison. She’s lucky to have you in her life.”

Bridget studied the stranger for any telltale signs of familiarity, but was unable to see through the darkened visor. “I’m sorry, but have we met before?”

“Yeah, you once told me to fuck the labels.” Bea flipped the helmet up and gave her a quick wink. “Best advice I’ve ever received.”

Bridget stood opened mouthed, devoid of words, as Vera stepped forward. “I’m sorry the system let you down, Bea. You should never have been incarcerated in Wentworth, but most of all, I’m sorry I let you down on the day of your encounter with Ferguson.”

“I’ll only accept your apology on the condition that you’ll never ever stop fighting for the women, because they need you. And your baby will be incredibly fortunate to have such a caring and loving mother.”

“Grace. My baby’s name is Grace. I... I hope you don’t mind?”

“I’m truly honoured.” Lastly, Bea looked up into Will’s warm brown eyes. “You were the first person to treat me like an actual human being upon my arrival at Wentworth. Thank you for always looking out for me and I’ll be forever in your debt for what you did for Debbie. May you find happiness again, one day soon.”

“You saved my arse, so let’s call it even, okay?” Will smiled. “I hope you find happiness, too.”

“Where are you heading, Red?” Franky asked her.

“Somewhere no one will find me until I’m ready to resurface.”

“Fair enough. See you around sometime,” Franky called out as Bea mounted and started her bike.

“No, you won’t. Remember your promise,” Bea said, flipping the visor down again.

Franky nodded, slipping her arm around Bridget’s waist, and together they all watched as Bea rode off down the road.

“Before I forget...” Franky rummaged through her pockets and handed over a piece of paper with her mobile number to Vera. “Can you include this on Boomer’s call list? Tell her she can call me anytime and I’ll be in to visit her next week after Gidge and I do a little catching up on some badly neglected housework, starting with the bedroom.”

Bridget waited until Vera and Will said their goodbyes and returned to the prison. “Okay, what the hell has been going on? Baby, you have some serious explaining to do.”

“It’s all part of that long story I promised to tell you over a candlelit dinner and roaring fire.” Franky flashed her cheeky grin, revealing her dimples. “C’mon, Twiggy, now we can ditch this shithole.”

“Twiggy?” Bridget cracked her knuckles. “I may have to punch some tits in when we get home!”

“Er, yeah... I don’t suppose you like puppies and jelly?”

**_EPILOGUE:_ **

Franky sat alone in a private room in Wentworth’s visitors centre, grateful that knowing the governor had its advantages. She remembered back to when she visited Bea at the prison to offer her words of encouragement and a shoulder to cry upon when Allie was fighting for her life in hospital. So much had happened since that day, and now Bea had entrusted her to deliver the important message. Finally, Allie appeared with Will Jackson by her side, and Franky stood up to greet them both.

“G’day, Mr J.”

“Franky, it’s good to see you again. Anytime you need more training...” Will winked at her and left the room, closing the door behind him.

“Franky!” Allie hurried over and hugged her. “Mr Jackson wouldn’t tell me who my visitor was. How’s life without Ferguson in the picture?”

“Perfect. Couldn’t be happier.”

“And Bridget? How’s she adjusting to freedom?”

“Good, although I’m not sure if I like that she can now beat me in a fair fight.”

“Yeah, you can blame Ruby and Boomer for that.” Allie took a seat opposite. “So what’s up?”

“I’m here on official business. What l need to know upfront is do you trust me?”

“Depends. Do l have a choice?”

“There’s always a choice. What I’m about to tell you will lead to many questions, all of which will remain unanswered. We must never speak of this ever again. No one must know. Understand?”

Allie’s curiosity was piqued, but she figured she had nothing to lose. “Okay, I’ll play along.”

“It’s not a game, Allie. It appears you don’t want it bad enough.” Franky gathered her files and stood up.

Allie quickly snatched at Franky’s hand to stop her from leaving. “I’m sorry, but you want me to trust you, yet you’ve given me nothing.”

“It’s something you’ve yearned for a long time.”

“There’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted, and it’s an impossibility.”

“Maybe not.”

Allie met Franky’s steely gaze with her own. “I’m fairly sure we’re thinking of different things, however, out of respect for our friendship, you now have my undivided attention.”

Franky sat back down again. “That’s better. First up, you’re going to need a fucking awesome lawyer to get your case reopened and get you out of here.”

“No shit!” Allie laughed. “Do you know any?”

“Yeah, me. Thought it was time to put my skills as a lawyer to good use, and after much digging around, I’ve discovered several inconsistencies which were conveniently missed at your trial. Had the jury been presented with all the facts beforehand, you wouldn’t have received such a harsh sentence.”

“Really? But... but there’s no way I can afford to pay you.”

“Your expenses have been paid for, upfront.”

“Are you serious? Who would want to waste their money on me?”

“Does it matter? Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“Well, _duh!_ Of course!”

“Then I have a message for you.” Franky reached over the table and held Allie’s warm hands in her own. “I’m still here. You’re forever in my heart and l think of you every single day. You are the only reason I exist.”

A look of confusion spread upon Allie’s face. “Franky, what are you talking about? Oh, I get it,” she scoffed. “You still want me? Cause you know... I’m a bit busy for the next few years.”

Franky chuckled at Allie’s smart-arsed response. Bea had warned her Allie would use humour to cover her true emotions. She rose and walked around the table, placing one hand upon Allie’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “I promise we’ll be together again, soon. I’ll always love you, my beautiful girl.” She kissed Allie softly on her forehead, and walked out of the visitors centre, without looking back.

Allie sat alone in complete disbelief; her entire body numb, for it had been a long time since she had heard those three words.

_My beautiful girl._

She slowly opened her balled fist and unfolded the piece of paper which Franky had placed in her hand a couple of minutes ago - a pencilled sketch of herself and Bea snuggling in bed together, with the familiar red blanket half draped over their naked bodies. In the bottom right-hand corner were the words: _To replace the one you sacrificed_.

Allie gasped. “I knew it,” she whispered to herself, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I never stopped loving you.”

For the first time since Bea died, Allie felt alive. She finally had something to do, someone to love, and something to live for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge grovelling thank you to everyone who read ‘Nemesis’, along with all your kind and encouraging comments! Before I attempt to write another long fic, I’ll be taking a slight detour to delve into my plot bunny folder and complete several one shots which have been threatening to override my sanity. Keep a lookout for several short stories including a ‘Nemesis’ spin off/Ballie one shot, and a comedic tale called ‘The Package’, starring everyone’s favourite goofball, Boomer.
> 
> In the meantime, if you like action/thrillers entwined with plot twists, check out my other stories.
> 
> Wishing you all a safe 2021. Bring on the last season of Wentworth!
> 
> As always,  
> Expect the Unexpected.
> 
> The_Fifth_Marauder


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